


Silent Devotion

by Casalia



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, Supernatural
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Past Child Abuse, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 19:01:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 64,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3499424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casalia/pseuds/Casalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fusion of Supernatural and the Hunger Games Universe.</p><p>"Sam Winchester" is the word that starts the crumble of the flawed nation, Panem. No one could have foreseen such a small act of defiance, blossoming, into a raging fire of rebellion.</p><p>Certainly, not Dean Winchester. Illegal hunter, handsome, and with a hard resolve won by love lost, the Capitol should have saw him coming. It was by pure chance the Capitol risked what Dean loved most in this world. It was most unlucky when the name “Castiel Milton” rang through the town square.</p><p>It would be the nation’s downfall.</p><p>[Fic is unfinished, will likely remain unfinished. Ends the night before they hit the arena. Might get worked on in the future but for now it shall remain in semi-permanent hiatus.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic has been burning a hole in my laptop for quite awhile. I took it down after a rather scathing comment that put me off from continuing it. I've decided to finish it. It's one of my best written works, with the help of Gaelicblue, and I'd hate to see it never shared. 
> 
> Just to clarify, this story follows the books pretty close up until about 3/5 of what I've got written (65k) only because in order for the end to work, I needed that specific story structure. It becomes it's own entity as the story progresses until it will become entirely different from the trilogy. This fic will not be a trilogy like I'd originally planned. It will be just a long complete fic with a beginning/middle/end. I've also kept a few scenes that occurred within the book themselves since I felt it's something Dean would do given the chance. 
> 
> Please enjoy and do not be shy about commenting. It's the air that breathes life into fan fiction and lets the author know that their endeavors and worth doing. 
> 
> -Sarah (Casalia)

I hide in the tree line surrounding a meadow, the rays of the sun beating upon my back and heat releasing the sweat from my skin. I sit crouched and waiting. I sniff the air and listen to the rustling of the wind through the pine trees all around me. Strangely, the forest is quiet. After waiting a few more minutes, the crunch of fall leaves signals the coming of my quarry. I slowly reach behind my back with barely a rustle and nock my arrow into the battered bow that was handmade by my mother.

Keeping the arrow taut, my eyes stay sharp as a buck walks into the clearing. He is sizeable and proud with his straight posture and sure footsteps. His ears twitch minutely for echoes of sound.  My breath shallows to almost near silence and my heart beats so fast I can feel it galloping in my ears. With a small exhale of breath, I release my arrow seamlessly and take down the buck in a fell swoop. The death is fast and painless for the animal. I stand up to my full height of six foot and two inches and stride with heavy steps in the direction of my kill.

“Sam!” I call out in the nearly empty forest. Birds fly away in fright, wing beats echoing in ruffles of sound. Looking around, I wait for my brother who has to be close by. Before hunting, we always promise to be within calling distance of each other as a precaution. It is never a bad thing to be cautious outside of the fenced borders of District Twelve in Panem. Our District mines coal for the Capitol and all the other Districts. There used to be a District Thirteen but the Capitol decimated it to smoking rubble which they still show to us every year at the Reaping. Right, the Reaping, which is only days away.

Panem was born from the smoldering remains of the North American continent that hundreds upon hundreds of years ago was ravaged by war, famine, rising sea levels and starvation. As far as I know, Panem is the only civilization to survive. There could be others out there, but our Districts never communicate with one another. It is a divisive tactic used by the Capitol to make rebellion nearly impossible.

Rebellion; that is was caused all of this in the first place. In school, they tell us stories about the Great War. The Districts rose up to overthrow the mighty Capitol but it was too strong to fall. Once defeated, the Districts were punished and left with a haunting reminder of their mistake, the Hunger Games. The Hunger Games bring together twenty-four ‘tributes’ randomly selected by lottery from each of the twelve Districts to fight one another to the death in a specially designed arena.

Only one of the twenty-four can be crowned victor. Afterwards, they reside in the Victors’ Village that lies in the nicer part of town outside The Seam, where Sam and I live. The Seam houses the coal miners, along with their families and is close to the actual mine. We are close enough to feel the blasts of the rock that quake from within the earth. We even feel the earth shake during the rare mine collapses.

“Dean!”

I whip my head toward the sound as I watch my younger brother make his way through the thick brush. My legs feel slightly numb from crouching when I stand, my bow sitting lightly in my grasp.

“I shot a buck!” I call back as Sam walks closer to me with a smile and a twinkle in his eyes. He brushes long strands of sweat-soaked hair from his forehead as I watch his gangly frame walk towards me. Sam is the largest boy in District Twelve and taller than me by about three inches. He is even taller than all of the men. Since our District is the poorest, malnutrition from an early age affects the height of everyone in our town. Sam and I grew up eating regularly, albeit small portions, but it was more than what most had.

Some families don’t eat for days.

Of course, we knew what it felt like to be hungry, but we were more fortunate since our mother and father knew how to hunt. In actuality, my mother knew how to hunt and my father just followed her around.

I watch Sam as he circles the fallen animal and calculates the mass of the deer with a critical eye. It’s an uncanny talent he has in that he can accurately estimate the weight of a kill. He is only ever off by ten or so pounds every time.

“This buck has to be one hundred and eighty five pounds. He looks about five years old based on the size of the prongs,” Sam announces. He crouches down and gingerly strokes the slightly warm fur. I bend down next to him and cleanly rip the arrow from a spot a little above the area between the eyes.

 My mother taught me the most humane way of killing animals since she considered them gifts and felt they should be treated as such. She taught me to hunt when I was younger and would bring me into the forest. I would carry the hooks that held all of our small game and retrieve the smaller animals. I stopped hunting with her when father insisted she stay home. He decided he should provide the food and not her. When our family was hungry I never understood his decision, but I never questioned it.

There wasn’t room to question.

Her death was tragic and the echoes of it still affect our family - reminders triggered by a memory, an object or even just the color of someone’s hair.

I remember it was a warm spring day and both my brother and I were at school. We felt the earth shake and we all knew immediately a section of the mine had collapsed. It was a rarity, but we knew the signs. The teacher let us out of school immediately to go to our families. We both ran to the entrance of the mines as workers coated in coal dust fled in droves from the elevators that came up from underground. Faces covered in soot looked around wildly for wives and children. We searched everywhere for our father who finally came up in the third elevator load. He ran to us asking where our mother was. We didn’t know. During incidents like these, she would have always been with us.

My father had run to Ellen Harvelle’s house, a family friend of our mother. I remember with such clarity when Ellen told our father that Mary had gone to see him at the mines because he’d forgotten his meager lunch. Normally she would’ve not ventured down into the mines where women were practically forbidden, but she had made an exception that day. She had come to bring him some news. She was pregnant.

We had run back to the mines asking every soot-colored face if they had seen Mary. Finally, my father heard from a miner who worked in a sector next to the collapse.

“Yeah I saw Mary. She came to ask me which sector you worked in. I told her I didn’t know and to check sector D. John, I’m sorry.” The man had said with a pained expression. Sector D was the area of the mine that had collapsed.

Before our eyes, Sam and I watched our father crumble under the weight of that revelation just like the tunnel in the mine beneath our feet. My father lost his sanity right then and there. That was the day I lost three members of my family. I lost my mother, I lost a brother or sister and I lost my father.

“Dean?” Sam asks prompting me to snap out of my reverie. The memories always return to me in the forest. My mother’s essence and memory seems to be wrapped around every tree like a vine that will not ever let go. If I closed my eyes, I swear I could smell her scent in the breeze

“Good eye, Sammy.” I laugh as I refocus on the situation. He throws an annoyed expression my way. I clean off my arrow with a handkerchief in my pocket and slide it back into the quiver on my back. It’s been ages since we’ve seen a deer and never one this size. I look through the many pockets of my pants and find a sharpened knife and a sizeable machete, that if the peacekeepers found in my possession, would lead to my immediate execution. It was another weapon that had belonged to my mother. She had inherited it from her father who had wrestled it from an enemy soldier during the rebellion. It is black and sleek with a Capitol seal close to the hilt. Because it’s Capitol-made, the blade is nearly indestructible and, very conveniently, needs only be sharpened every five years or so.

Sam and I prepare the deer the same way we do with all large kills. We slice off the head and leave it to be picked over later. Next, we slice open the animal and field dress the kill. It diminishes the weight of the buck and makes it easier for transport. We leave the guts in a pile and cut off the hide. What’s left is the headless meaty portion that Sam and I quickly chop into manageable pieces as well as any butcher.

I slice off the steaks and section off the meat into discernible choice cuts. We stick them into a canvas bag that took us collecting many dead squirrels and birds in order to purchase. It is a worthy acquisition for transporting large amounts of game. Before, we could have brought home so much more but didn’t have a way to carry it. The bag has definitely paid for itself well enough, especially with this buck.

Once the best parts of the kill are stashed away, Sam harvests pieces of the chopped head like the tongue and sections of the brain. In town, we get high prices for these bits of meat. We even sell the finer cuts of meat to some of the townspeople like the mayor or even to some of the friendlier peacekeepers. Meat is expensive and only people in town can afford it and even then, they eat very little of it due to price. Buying fresh game from us is cheaper than what the town’s butcher provides. Most of the meat is raised by District Ten, the livestock District, which is then sent to the Capitol to be gobbled up by its citizens in unnecessarily lavish amounts, or so we hear.

When Sam and I are ready to leave with our harvested meat, we find a sturdy branch nearby and tie the closed bag to it. We take hold of each end of the branch, crouch down and on the count of three - push with our legs into an upright position. The journey back home takes about forty-five minutes and we arrive while the sun is still high in the sky.

Our home is government-issued, given to our parents when they married long ago. It is small and made of aged brick. Pieces of the brick are chipped and cracked, but I like it this way. Sam and I walk into the house through the back door that sits underneath a covered porch. My father built it after I was born and my mother and I would sit underneath it during the showers in the late fall.

We don’t use a key to enter our home. No one does in the Seam. Nobody has anything to take.

My father seems to be locked in his room like usual after his twelve-hour shift. I can tell because his boots are sitting upright near the front door in a pile of dust. His soot-stained work jacket hangs on an antler that we use as a coat rack right next to his little-used leather coat.

Once inside, Sam goes to work taking our share of the meat and prepping it for consumption. We dry the meat into jerky so it keeps longer than fresh meat. We tried salting fresh meat but we both found it tasted horrible.

While he divides up the meat, I stash my quiver and bow in a space hidden under an inconspicuous floor board covered by a carpet in the bedroom Sam and I share. The bedroom is simple and sparsely decorated. The only furniture in the room is a large wooden bed, a chest that sits at the foot of the bed and a dresser that stands near the window. On the dresser are two photographs, one of my mother and one of Ellen and Jo.

Jo, Ellen’s daughter, is my best friend, and also my hunting partner most of the time. I only bring Sam out to hunt on weekends since he has school the rest of the time. I used to have another hunting partner but I try to never think of him anymore, which is difficult when I catch his blue eyes watching me every so often in town or at school.

Shaking the blue eyes from my thoughts, I walk into the kitchen to find the game bag ready to be taken to The Hob. It’s a place where pretty much anything can be bought or sold, except for weapons. It’s a sort of black market and a great place for me to trade some of my game. I only take half of what I plan on trading since that weight alone is almost too much for me to carry. I always come back afterwards to replenish the bag before I go into town.

The Hob sits in a warehouse where Coal used to be kept before being shipped to other Districts and the Capitol. When a new delivery system was created that transports the coal straight to the docks, the warehouse was unneeded. It quickly became an illegal marketplace that even the peacekeepers frequent for goods. Lax enforcement of laws in Twelve allow the Hob to stay open.

Inside, booths upon booths are open with skinny, hollow-cheeked citizens trading their goods. With my bag in tow, I quietly walk amongst the sellers looking for things I need to buy. I trade two nice steaks for a bolt of cloth, buttons and some needles for Sam. I trade some more meat to Greasy Sae who makes soup. In turn, she give me a bundle of days-old vegetables that will make a nice stew for tonight.

I get rid of all of my meat and manage to bring home an additional haul of flour, butter, cheese and soap. The soap smells like pine needles and I can smell it wafting from a bag that I found scrunched up in a pocket near my knee. I always hate to put home goods in my game bag. Sam always makes fun of me but I think he appreciates it when any cloth I buy him arrives at home smelling meat-free.

When I am finished at the Hob, I walk home to replenish my game bag. Sammy is engrossed with slow-cooking the meat to jerky perfection. I deposit the bag of home goods on the dining room table and walk out of the house towards the town.

I sell all of the rest of my meat until I have enough money to keep us meagerly fed for the next three weeks. I knock on the doors of everyone in town all except the Baker after I see blue eyes watching me from the window. I walk away and go next door instead.

Once my bag is only left with the choicest bits of meat do I head towards the mayor’s house. I knock on the door and Madge Undersee opens it. I smile and she returns with a grin of her own. We begin to talk in the same way all of our interactions seem to go. Madge’s family is wealthy since her father is the mayor.

She is beautiful with blonde hair and light eyes, just like most of the people in town. Her hair reminds me of my mother, whose locks were gold and radiated sunshine. John always says that was the first thing he noticed about her since in the Seam, most everyone has dark hair or brown hair paired with matching color eyes. John has green eyes with flecks of brown and  a crop of dark brown hair so he stood out a bit and piqued my mother’s interest.

Mary was blonde with beautiful blue eyes and I can still remember how they glistened even in the worst of times. She was a flame that could never be snuffed out, her spirit so strong and practically unbreakable.

Because Madge reminds me of Mary, it tempers the slight heat I feel in my blood towards her pretty face. Her body is lithe in a pleasing way unlike the obvious ribs and sharp collarbones that plague most of District Twelve. She always flirts when I come calling with my dead squirrels and birds. Her father pays me handsomely during strawberry season for the pails of the delicious succulent fruit that grows bountiful in the wild. Madge is a good friend and I often sit with her at school if Jo isn’t around.

“The weather is really beautiful today,” Madge quietly remarks. “The breeze felt nice on my skin when I walked into town to buy some bread.”

“What kind of bread did you buy?” I ask. I remember standing in that bakery as the dough in the pans proofed or baked. I think of the warm loaves and the smell.

“One loaf of dark wheat bread sprinkled with oats and honey on top and another with raisins mixed with cinnamon. I even bought a packet of cookies.”

My mouth waters as I picture the heavenly luxurious food. I have no idea what cinnamon tastes like, but my mother used to tell me how wonderful it was. They would sell sticks of it in the apothecary shop her family used to own.

                “Would you like a cookie? They’re shortbread,” Madge offers. She must have seen the look of utter want on my face. I eagerly nod my head as she walks into the house. She beckons me inside and I gladly accept. Her family knows me so it is not a terrible thing for me to be following her to the kitchen.

                It sort of works out since I can unload my game bag of venison into their fridge. Madge’s house gets electricity at all hours of the day, since her father is the mayor after all, while the Seam only gets two to three hours of it daily.

                As she goes into the cupboard to retrieve the bag of cookies, I stack the meat in a special box labeled ‘meat’.

                “Are you ready for The Reaping Friday?” Madge asks as she hands over a cookie. I respond with meat-soaked hands in the air after putting away the last cut of meat. I walk over to the sink and wash my hands. I watch the red water swirl down the drain as I dry my wet hands.

                “Is anyone ever?” I reply solemnly as I take the cookie from her. I stop to smell the delicious treat first before taking a bite. I cannot remember the last time I even had a cookie. I do remember it contained raisins and oats unlike this cookie which is a pale cream and devoid of anything else. I take a tentative bite as Madge continues on with the conversation.

                “True, but it is a necessary evil to keep peace,” Madge says in a voice that is louder than it normally is. It’s always possible the house is bugged, so I try to keep normal chatter going but I’m too focused on the soft flavors of the shortbread that transport me to a time and a life not my own. A taste of town; of wealth.

                “That is one way to look at it, but we can’t do anything to change it and we would be crazy to try,” I say in neutral tone around a mouthful of shortbread.

Madge quickly looks at me, eyes widening in alarm. I realized I have said the wrong thing, and I quickly try to backtrack.

                “Of course, the Capitol is _gracious_ and _divine_ for choosing not to eradicate us all - only a select few. The crime fits the punishment,” I say in a loud tone that almost seems happy, but the panic is in my eyes. Madge can see it.  She artfully changes the subject to less turbulent waters.

                “So Dean, how do you like the cookie? I saw them in the window and couldn’t resist taking home a few.”

                “I can honestly say I’ve never had anything so tasty. The last cookie I ever had was made of oats and raisins. It was chunky and soft.”

                “Oh! That’s an oatmeal-raisin cookie! My father loves those. My mother makes them sometimes,” Madge replies with a genuine smile. I give her one back as I finish the rest of my cookie.

                She quietly tells me about her day as I sit at the table in the kitchen. She gives me another cookie which I gladly take without question. 

                “I almost forgot!” Madge exclaims in the middle of a story about how she picked up eggs instead of milk. “Castiel told me to tell you hello.”

                I freeze and my lungs seize their breathing. A flash of quiet laughter in the meadow and unruly dark brown hair rises unbidden in my mind.

                “That’s great Madge,” I whisper, trying to school my features into something impassive. I’m probably failing miserably.

                “Oh, I forgot…about you two. I didn’t think anything of it,” Madge apologizes. I know it was an accident but my heart beats fast and my hands start to get clammy. Just a casual mention of his name causes my pulse to start running like a scared deer in a forest.

                “It’s alright, it’s been a few years. We live in the same town. It’s kind of hard to act like the other person doesn’t exist.” I wish it wasn’t so hard - that it was easier to ignore the constant ache. I do try, but it is a hole that can never be filled and is my cross to bear.

                “You two were so happy and so in love,” she says as her hand touches mine. I snatch it back quickly as if burned by an open flame.

                “Well, sometimes love isn’t enough. Not in this world,” I bite out. I can feel my face stiffen in anger. “Not with the Hunger Games. Love fuels it and I don’t want to be a part of it,” I huff out in a whisper and sigh in resignation. “It ends with me.”

                “What about Sam? He could have children,” she whispers.

                “He could, or he couldn’t. All I know, is no child of mine will be a lamb to the slaughter,” I reply in the quietest tone I can possibly manage. She looks at me with sadness in her eyes. She tentatively tries to cover my hand again and I let her. She rubs it with a soft thumb just like my mother used to. A small tear makes its way down my cheek. Madge uses her other hand to wipe it away.

                “You’re going to be ok, hopefully,” she says softly. With The Reaping, anything is possible.

                “Thanks.”

                “You’re welcome, Dean.”

                Soon our conversation changes to light-hearted talk about the Reaping itself. There isn’t much of anything else to talk about in Twelve around this time of the year. Despite everyone’s hatred of it, no one can escape talking about it.

                This year is a boy’s year. Up until the fiftieth Hunger Games, they chose one boy and one girl from each district as it is written in the charter. But at some point along the way, it seems the Capitol grew bored of that set up. The gamemakers decided to change things up and rotate the type of tributes every three years.  One year they would follow the tradition of choosing a boy and girl from each district. The next it would be two girls and two boys the year after that.

The Capitol found it extraordinarily thrilling to see the same gender fight to the death, especially during the years when two males are reaped. Those Games were always bloodier and more gruesome but also a bit more predictable. The boys are crude in their ways and turn against each other almost immediately.

The girls are a different story. They are cunning and smart. They divide into groups and use emotional manipulation to claw their way to the top. Swift in their killings, each tribute will do anything to survive. There are, of course, some who are fierce and whose brutality could rival most men but the rest use their minds in an artful dance of murder. It would be remarkable to behold - if it wasn’t children killing one another for someone else’s sport.

Madge tells me how glad she is that this year she is eighteen. Because of this, next year she will be too old to be eligible for the games. All the girls in her age group are caught between feelings of relief for themselves but worry for friends, family or boyfriends.

I’ve seen it happen countless times before - a happy young couple is chopped in half by the Capitol during the same-gender games. Sometimes, the girls and the boys stand stoic with granite faces. This is their way of showing The Capitol that, no matter what, they will not break. But, more often than not, both will scream for one another and display their pain to every citizen of Panem. These are the images that will be recounted around the clock throughout the Reaping footage in the beginning of The Games.

 I remember one particular couple this happened to, and the aftermath. It had happened during my Reaping when I was sixteen. It was an opposite-gender year. A girl named Deirdre was engaged to be married to a boy named Joshua. His name was chosen and the girl fell to her knees in complete and abject suffering. She never moved from that spot, but I watched her as the dirt colored her pale skirt in blacks and browns. Her face, scrunched up like the wrinkles on a willow tree, was covered with a thin layer of dust from the ground. The tracks of her tears mapped out her sorrow in pale clean skin.

When he died in the games, she went missing. The next day, her body was found in a tree. It swung with a creak as the wind buffeted the cold body. Dark circles marred the bottoms of her eyes and had become more pronounced with little sleep and zero nourishment. I watched her swing like a ragdoll from the jagged branches.

That was the day romance died for me and along with it, any illusions of a peaceful idyllic future in my relationship with Castiel. It wasn’t the games; it was the girl, face beautiful in the still pale light of death. “Another body for the Capitol,” was all I had thought.

Madge and I speak until I look outside and see the setting sun tinging everything a light orange. I say my goodbyes and we hug one another. I leave with my empty game bag and walk home with the smell of the trees wafting it’s fragrance in the light wind.

I think about how today has been a great day despite the haunting shadow of the reaping upon District Twelve. I walk past the Baker’s shop on my way home and feel the same blue eyes that haunt the hours of my life watching me. I ignore them and keep trudging on in the dying light.

I arrive home as the sky turns a radiating pink. I open the weathered door and plop down into the chair near the fireplace. A few logs are stacked inside and engulfed in low flames. An iron pot hangs above the fire. I can smell the venison stew cooking that Sam put together while I was gone. He must have chopped some of the vegetables I had traded for earlier and probably added in some of the flour to thicken it.

Having watery stew would be shame, especially with such rich meat. So I am thankful Sam chose to use the small amount of flour we had to make it worthwhile.

I close my eyes and relax as the dark creeps over Twelve. I can feel the temperature drop to a mild cold like it tends to do in summer. My mind travels to blue eyes, plush lips and tousled dark hair. Laughter and kisses under a tree, soft exhales in the dark and small groans of teenage pleasures.

I snap out of my memories as they tease me and create tiny cracks in the heavily-fortified walls around my heart. I think of all the reasons why the walls are there in the first place - the girl swinging from the tree and the splatter of children’s blood - and eventually those cracks are repaired.

I busy myself with sharpening the tips of my arrows as Sam comes to sit across from me mending a pair of pants with some of our new supplies.

 “So how is the venison jerky turning out?” I say to break the silence. Sam quickly looks up, needle poised in the air, seemingly attached to nothing in the darkened room. I don’t know how he can see in such dim light but I don’t say anything.

“It still needs four more hours but then it should be ready,” Sam replies as he gets back to work. “The stew should be almost ready, though.”

“Sounds good,” I say as I use the stone in my hand to sharpen the arrow tips.

There is never seems to be much to talk about in Twelve. Gossip is uninteresting to us and we spent the entire day in the woods together. I decide instead to let silence fall as the scrape of stone on stone echoes in the room along with the crackling of the fire. I soon become lost in my fantasy of running away to live in the wild, away from the Capitol and its games, as each arrow is re-sharpened and cleaned.

* * *

The next couple of days are almost the same. I go to school for a few hours unlike Sam who has to stay for a larger part of every day. We end school at the age of nineteen and by the end of our time there, it’s pared down to career-oriented classes. The boys go to the mines and work twelve-hour shifts. The girls stay at home and raise the families or obtain income any way they can. My mother would heal people with plants she found in the forest during her hunts. Some mothers washed laundry for the townspeople and peacekeepers. Some even dole out their flesh to feed themselves or their families. One of our peacekeepers, Craven, is notorious for taking advantage of this practice.

No one talks about it, of course. Better to sell your flesh than die from hunger in the streets.

 Since I’m a man, I know my fate and it stares out at me like a shadow from the faces of every miner in the Seam. I could of course hunt in the forest and sell my game at the market but I know John will leap at the chance to get his hands on more income to feed his….habit. Of the liquor variety. But we don’t talk about that, either.

I cannot bear to imagine being locked up in the bowels of the earth for twelve hours a day without seeing the sun. In the wintertime, the men never even see the sun. To them, every day is like an endless night.

I often hear my father hack up coal dust at least six times a day and the wash basin turns a cloudy black after his every shift. That’s why I like hunting so much. I can feel the sun kiss my face and the gentle wind as it flows over my skin and through my short hair. I can close my eyes and smell the evergreen of the trees and hear the birds sing to one another. When I think of dying, and where I would like to go, it would be in a forest. A place so alive that you can easily get swept up into it and forget anything else. Especially things like blue eyes and deep laughs.

Today, the day before the Reaping, I meet up with Jo. We leave for the woods early in the morning so later on she can help out her mother, Ellen, who runs my grandfather’s old Apothecary shop. If her mother needs any plants from the forest, she is who I sell them to. Jo and I have been friends for as long as I can remember. She’s been there for me through everything. Through Mary, John and Castiel.

 We usually banter playfully and flirt every now and then but our relationship, if consummated, would feel positively incestuous. We are like brother and sister and could be easily mistaken as such with her looks that match my mother’s. Same blonde hair, green eyes, nearly full lips and feisty attitude with a touch of motherliness. But I will never tell her that, of course.

“So, let’s see,” Jo opens her canvas game bag and roots around counting her kill. I stand there re-aligning the fletching on my arrows that was a bit ruffled from shooting through some bushes. “Five rabbits and three squirrels. Not a bad haul for yesterday’s snares. What about you Winchester, what’s your count?” She looks over at my lightly-filled game bag. I know I didn’t catch as much as her, but I decide to play her game anyway.

I open my bag and hastily count the contents inside. “Duck, squirrel and rabbit. Two of everything.” I close the bag and brace for her childish glee.

“Suck it, Winchester! Bow down to the mighty huntress of District Twelve!” She pumps a fist in the air and her hips shake in a weird shimmy while her arms resemble a windmill.

“Are you trying to dance? Or are you having a seizure?” I playfully tease as she freezes, arms held taut in the air and hip jutted out. She sticks out her tongue as her arms fall to her sides. She picks up her bag and slings it over her shoulder as I follow suit.

We chat a little as we hike through the forest until we enter a sunlit clearing we’ve been to many times. It’s beautiful with trees ringing the perimeter and wildflowers growing in haphazard clumps all over the grass. We sit with our backs against a log that Sam and I put there a year ago. Jo pulls out a handkerchief filled with medium-sized rolls dotted with little seeds on top. She only has three rolls but it’s more than enough. It’s a tradition we started before our first Reaping together since our birthdays are only a few months apart. Her mother bakes them with fine flour that she gets a few times a year. It’s a rare treat that is almost the equivalent of edible silver if it were currency.

“So… your last Reaping is tomorrow,” Jo announces, picking apart her roll slowly, savoring every bite just like I do. The bread sits soft and sweet on my palate and a slight nuttiness mixes in with the flavors from the seeds. The outside is crunchy and is soft like edible wool on the inside. I look over at her and then back down to the grass.

“It feels like just yesterday that we stood in line for the first time to get our blood pressed into that book of theirs. During Sammy’s first Reaping I had to reassure him that it felt like nothing so he wouldn’t run away from nervousness.”

“I know what you mean. I always hated that part of the Reaping. Why do they need our blood anyway?”

“Control. Power. Dominance. Who knows?” I answer solemnly. I wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case.

“Next year, you will be part of the adults hovering outside the square. It feels weird that I’ll be there this year myself.” Jo sets down her roll and plays with a strand of her hair. Because this year is a boy’s year, and she’ll be nineteen, she is forever out of the reapings just like Madge. It’s one of the few added benefits of same-sex Reapings.

“Going to place any bets?” I joke darkly as I aggressively rip another bite from my roll. She looks up with eyebrows drawn together in anger.

“Of course not! Every asshole that bets on children’s lives can go to hell. Or better yet, get reaped. I’d watch those games.”

“A bunch of adults running around killing each other in an arena? Yeah, that will definitely happen,” I snort sarcastically. “The day that happens, is the day someone gets me to fall on one knee in professions of marriage.”

“Never say never, Winchester. Some pretty girl or boy just might stroll on by and you’ll fall to your knees to eat the dirt they walk upon.”

“Too bad that already happened,” I smile sadly as I finish off the roll. I reach for the last remaining roll and split it in half to offer Jo the other piece.

“Sorry, I always forget about Castiel,” she replies. Jo looks up at me, eyes wide in apology.

I smile at her in forgiveness and she smiles back.

“You two were really something though. I’ve never seen anyone so in love. My mother says she had that with my father and so did your parents.”

“If only Mary could see John now. She would have shot an arrow right into his leg and called him a ‘cowardly bastard’.”

“She would have,” Jo laughs. “But stop avoiding the subject, you never told me why Castiel and you broke apart. No one knows.”

“Because there isn’t much to tell,” I sigh and rub a hand across my eyes. My mind is assaulted by a quick round of memories that punch the steel walls around my heart. Each one creates a micro-crack that I can feel with each assault. “Basically, I woke up. I realized that no matter what, the Capitol would ruin us. They could split us apart during a Reaping through us or our children.”

“Well, this year is your last Reaping. Once it’s over, you could get him back and-”

“But then, we would get married and then have children to deal with.”

“YOU DON’T HAVE TO HAVE CHILDREN!” Jo yells at me, face like a storm cloud.

“AND THAT IS WHY WE AREN’T TOGETHER ANYMORE!” I scream. Painful memories surface but I push them down, deep down. I drown them and hide the images deep within the closed off parts of my mind.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Yeah, well, me too. Every god damn day of my life.” Tears unbidden pool in my eyes threatening to fall. I look away as the first droplet rolls and skips down my cheek. I wipe it away with a dirty hand.

“You need a hug,” Jo announces. I look at her in utter misery and shake my head no. “Come on, Winchester, no one is around to see. Bring it on in, tough guy.” She opens her arms and a small war in my head breaks out over whether or not to give in, but I give in anyway. And it feels damned amazing.

“It hurts every day. I see him all the time. Every time I go to the mayor’s house, all I see are two blue eyes _watching me_. And all I want to do is run up to that back door and tell him I love him. To tell him to forget what I said even though my feelings will never change. I’m so weak, Jo. I would sacrifice the lives of innocent children for my own personal happiness.”

 I quietly sob against her chest, releasing everything I’ve been feeling the past two years. This openness is strange to me. It feels freeing. But I also feel overwhelming waves of shame and disgust - born from lifelong lectures about being a man from John when Mary wasn’t around.

“Its ok, sweetie, get it all out. I won’t tell anyone, alright?”

“What would I do without you, Jo?”

“Starve. Grow metaphorical manly chest hair. Become so emotionally constipated that you become a mute in your advanced years. Oh, and become so bored with life that you would bash your head into a rock from complete boredom?” Jo offers. I laugh and instantly feel better. The dam holding back my emotions is slowly repairing and I can feel myself restoring the walls around my heart.

“I’ll say one more thing Dean, and that’s all we will say on the matter. Just, well, promise me you won’t deny yourself. Don’t deny the obvious love you have for someone. You never know, your kid might never get reaped. It happened with our grandparents, why can’t it happen to you?” Jo says in complete seriousness. She uses the gentlest tone I’ve ever heard from her and she’s never sounded so motherly. For an instant, she could be my own mother comforting me after a hunt or at home.

In that moment we are not eighteen-year-olds but weathered adults who have seen a lifetime of hardship, yet she holds me and comforts me like a child. I indulge.

 Innocence in the Seam is snuffed out by the harsh realities of hunger and watching children kill each other for amusement. Imaginary friends disappear like smoke in the wind the moment you watch someone get their head chopped off mid-scream. So I indulge in this moment and set aside all my ‘manly’ reservations. And it feels wonderful.

When Jo lets go of me, I try to think of anything to lighten the mood. Might as well not completely ruin the day before The Reaping. I finally think of something I know she would enjoy talking about. It’s something we talk of each year.

“So what color do you think Effie’s hair will be tomorrow?” Jo looks at me and instantly brightens. 

“Rainbow! I mean, she’s done every other color for as long as I can remember. Oh! Last year, wasn’t  she dressed up with green hair and a brown dress?”

“Yes! Damn, she looked like a walking tree.”

 “She had a painted white face and green lips!” Jo giggles as she stands up and gets on her tippy toes. Jo purses her lips, sticks out her hands to her side and puts her fingers out flat and horizontal. “Happy Hunger Games!” Jo trills out in a Capitol accent. It sounds annoying and snooty, grating on the ears with forced-sounding elegance.

“May the odds be _eva_ in your fava!” I trill in a mock high voice. Jo breaks character and giggles uncontrollably. I look at her with a smile and throw a small pebble at her torso which bounces off her collarbone.

She turns towards me, face scandalized. “You’ve ruined my dress! This is SILK!” Jo screams in fake horror. We laugh as she falls to the ground clutching her ribs. I can barely breathe as laughter seizes the muscles in my stomach.

We decide to spend the next hour doing impressions of various famous Capitol citizens until we realize from the position of the sun that it’s dinner time. Jo leads as we walk out of the meadow and along a beaten trail in the forest.

Eventually, we reach the hole in the fence that contains District Twelve. The fence is dotted with signs warning of the electricity that runs through it. Since we only get two to three hours of electricity per day, the odds of the fence actually being on are highly unlikely; something my mother figured out long ago. I lift the bottom of the sheet of interlocking metal and hold it as Jo walks through with her game bag and I follow behind her. We discuss light topics and I walk with her to her house. I say hello to Ellen and stay to chat for a few minutes. Jo’s mother always asks about John and Sammy. She is an aunt to me and it doesn’t matter that it’s not by blood. Jo is family and we aren’t related in the slightest. Well, we could be distantly related through my mother, but who knows.

I say my goodbyes and leave to trade in the Hob. I exchange one squirrel for a bowl of stew from Greasy Sae. We chat for a bit and she tells me about the ten customers she had today, six of them being peacekeepers. She laughs about how she fed them stew made with wild dog instead of beef. They didn’t even know the difference. We chat for a bit more until I’m finished with my soup. We say our goodbyes and I leave to trade the rest of my kill.

As I peruse the stalls, and I finally exchange a duck for a medium block of cheese. It has a spot of mold on a corner, but that can easily be chopped off to make it still edible. I keep the rest of my game to make into a stew. Every year I make sure Sammy is fed a little extra the day before the Reaping to ease his nerves. It’s harder to be nervous with a full belly. Before leaving, I even manage to get a great deal on some carrots, potatoes and wilted cabbage. It will pair nicely with the rabbit stew.

I walk home feeling the soup from the Hob slosh around in my stomach. Today has been a feast for me and I revel in the sensation of my hunger being satisfied. I walk into our home to find Sam sitting in a chair by the window. He’s staring out the dirty glass with a furrowed expression like always. There isn’t much to do in the Seam and getting lost in your thoughts or day dreaming is the usual activity of choice.

I unload my game bag and start making dinner with meager supplies. Wilted cabbage, three long, dry carrots and two potatoes where their ends are fuzzy with mold. It wouldn’t have been a great deal if they had been almost completely unusable. You’ve got to take what you can get.

 I quietly go about chopping, skinning and slicing all the ingredients. I always keep the furs of every rabbit I kill. Nothing beats the soft buttery feel of the skin and the downy soft fur. Sam likes to sew the pieces together to make blankets for the cold winters. Last year, I traded half a buck for a bolt of wool so he could make the lining for a large blanket of rabbit furs he had sewn together. That following winter we spent our nights reveling in the warmth beneath that blanket. Right now, the heavenly monstrosity was folded up and put away in the large chest that sits at the foot of our bed.

An hour later I announce that ‘soups on’ and I hear my father groan from behind his bedroom door. With bloodshot eyes he grabs a bowl and waddles back into his room shutting the door behind him in a perfume of white liquor. Sam looks at me in quiet relief and I give him a half-smile in return. We gather to the dining room table and spend dinner, along with the rest of the evening, discussing my day and the Reaping that starts tomorrow.

* * *

 

“Sam! GET UP! It’s Reaping day,” I yell as I walk back into the room we share. I slap his face with medium force that causes the lids of his eyes to immediately open to reveal an annoyed expression.

“I’m up, I’m up! Dammit, Dean, don’t slap me again!” Sam wipes at the corner of his eyes that are pulled into tight slits of annoyance once the light hits them. He throws back the covers and sits up as I button my snowy white shirt - soft from many washings. It belonged to John and I’ve worn it every year since my first Reaping. It’s his wedding shirt that my mother bought him.

Sam wears a soft blue shirt that is another one of John’s and is just as soft. It is his third time wearing it. The cuffs of the sleeves look different than mine because Sam’s arms are much longer. Through sheer luck last year, I found similar colored cloth and he altered the cuffs to fit.

We both wear matching brown pants and worn brown shoes. This year is my final Reaping and I keep trying to repeat that in my mind to calm myself. Nervousness still beats a tattoo in my heart no matter what. The breath I seem to have been holding since I was twelve will finally be released once it’s over. My chances of being picked are great considering the amount of tesserae I have gotten in the past few years. The two large bowls that hold every name carefully written in neat script on milky white paper contains at least twenty five copies of mine.

Thankfully, Sam only has four entries; one for every year since his first Reaping. I make sure he never has to get tesserae. Instead, I taught him to hunt like my mother did. If I were to be chosen, I know John wouldn’t starve, nor would Sam. I’d rather they die from old age than simple starvation like most citizens of Twelve.

During breakfast this morning, Sam and I quietly munch on the jerky venison that he finished making three days ago. It’s tough and semi-filling. We eat it with hard-grain bread made from the last tesserae I got. It’s grainy and almost unappetizing with its dense texture. We stare at each other with careful eyes.

“Just one more Reaping Sam and that’s it,” I say around a mouthful of jerky. Sam looks down as he stops chewing. He swallows with a sigh.

“For you, Dean. I still have two more and your name is in there twenty five times. Might as well be fifty since it’s a boy’s year.” His eyes look back up into mine and they shimmer with unshed tears. You can’t take the Reaping lightly when you’ve seen every outcome that could possibly happen since your very birth.

“That’s true, but your name is only in there four times. Most boys your age have at least ten entries. Count yourself lucky, little brother.” I smile, taking a hard bite out of a particular large strip of jerky. Sam stuffs a few small pieces of meat into his mouth and chews thoughtfully, but he’s smiling now.

“I’m anything but ‘little’.” He laughs around his mouthful of jerky.

“Yeah, how does that work out? Isn’t it the law of nature for the eldest to be taller?” I playfully argue back.

“I guess nature made a mistake with you and finally got it right with me,” Sam retorts. I shoot him a slightly annoyed sneer.

“Whatever gets you to sleep at night, Samantha”

“It’s Sam.”

“ _Right._ ”

We go back and forth until John walks into the room in a clean shirt and pants. He is wearing the shoes he married my mother in and his face is absent of his bushy dark beard. His hair has streaks of grey but his beard always stays black. I have a suspicion that coal dust is the culprit since it is usually mired heavily under his fingernails, well, except for today. His fingers are clean and every inch of exposed skin is coal dust free. It saves me having to remindhim like usual. Dirt is healthy for anybody but my mother found out that if you keep your hands clean and picked out the dirt under your nails, it keeps us unusually safe from winter diseases like colds or the flu. Something about a heightened immune system I recall.

“You boys all ready?” John calls out from the other side of the room. He walks into the kitchen to grab a few slices of jerky. He pairs his breakfast with a glass bottle that contains crystal clear liquid. It’s something we don’t discuss, but ever since my mother died, he’s been a customer down at the Hob where the woman with one arm sells liquor. When John isn’t at work, he’s in his room drinking. His wages would be enough to meagerly feed us all, but of instead every dollar goes towards his…habit.

 Years ago, I learned to turn a blind eye to it in exchange for John never hitting Sam again. It’s the reason I don’t call him Father. He lost that privilege the first and the last time he struck Sam across the face with a hard fist. We beat the crap out of each other that night and came to an uneasy truce. Ever since then, I look away whenever the bottle appears.

“Yes we are. The Reaping starts in fifteen minutes. Let’s go,” I order John without looking him directly in the eyes. He lost that respect as well. I see him nod out of the corner of my eye and I stand up from the kitchen table. Sam hastily tucks in his shirt and pulls down the cuffs of his sleeves. It looks like he’ll need to lengthen them again considering how the end keeps slipping up behind his wrist bone. I make a mental note to keep an eye out at the Hob for similar fabric.

John leads the way for appearances, but I’m the leader of the family since it’s been just the three of us. Sam and I follow behind in slow footsteps. My brother keeps shooting me nervous looks like he does every Reaping. I keep a stony expression and try to stay strong for the both of us while inside, my heart flutters and beats nervously. To reassure him, I grasp his hand in mine in familial affection. I squeeze his hand and he looks up at me with a small smile and a squeeze back in acknowledgement.

I look around us to the groups of other families making their way to the town square. Every sibling of every age is holding hands in comfort. If family love was food, none of us would ever go hungry.

The same can’t be said for the Capitol, from what I understand.

I look around at all the sharp cheekbones and skinny bodies with jutting collarbones. It’s a sea of dark brown hair and dark eyes. Shades of Caucasian skin ranging from slightly pink to a deep tan display like a gradient all around us. Plain faces unadorned with anything at all bleed together. My brother and I are fortunate in that we are considered among the more handsome citizens of the Seam and we tower over the throngs of children and adults.

We reach the town square after twenty minutes of walking. Lines of boys stand in front of each table that contains one peacekeeper and a large book. Sam looks down at me nervously and I look up at him, eyes squinting in the sun. I squeeze his hand and let go, pushing him forwards in front of me.

There is a table for each age group. Twelve-year-olds go to the table on the far left and eighteen-year-olds, like myself, go to the far right. I watch Sam get in line at the table two away from my mine. We watch each other as the line inches forward one by one. I get to my table first and offer my finger. A lancet of some kind pricks my finger and it smashes into a small box next to my name. The peacekeeper, a woman, yells out ‘NEXT!’ as I hastily walk away to stand in the back row with others my age.

We are all gathered in front of the Justice building where several chairs are lined up to the right on the stage. That is where the mayor’s family sits, the Undersees. Madge will sit up there with her father, wearing the dress she showed me two days ago. A white thing with a blue belt, I think. I look to the right and see a large white screen where the annual film plays. I observe the stage a bit more and take in the brown podium. Flanking six feet from the podium is a stand that contains a large glass bowl filled halfway with little slips of paper. During same-sex years they forgo the second bowl and just put out one.

I look around like everyone else with nothing better to do. I observe a few classmates and kids from town. The townies tend to stand together and I can tell by the group with blonde hair and blue eyes that most of them have. There are a few I see with light brown hair that stand together and each of them has blue eyes as well.

All of a sudden I catch the eye of one of the group. His hair is the darkest brown of all. It’s almost black but in the sun it’s a very dark brown. He stands silent and looks at me, assessing me with his blue eyes. It’s Castiel. He watches me with silent reproach. Just like he did last year and still does whenever I see him at school. I look away and keep my eyes trained on the flag of Panem that is draped above the stage. I can feel his eyes on me until the loud music of Panem screams across the sound system from all around us. It signals the start of the Reaping.

The mayor and his family walk out to sit in the chairs on the right. Our district’s only victor, Bobby Singer, comes out too. He walks shakily and plonks down into his chair with a groan. He is dressed in a casual cap while the rest of him is in a waistcoat, tie, dress pants and dress shoes. It’s a weird combination. But strangely, it fits his face.

The mayor marches to the podium and welcomes everyone to the Reaping. He turns towards the screen as a film about the history of the Hunger Games and the Rebellion begins to play. I can recite the narration word for word, along with everyone else in the crowd. This film is especially tailored to District Twelve because at the end, it shows Bobby staring off into the distance with the flag of Panem waving behind him. He is much younger in the video, probably about seventeen. After him is the second victor who was a woman named Sophie. The film ends with a crescendo that finishes the Capitol anthem.

A few seconds after the film ends, Effie Trinket saunters to the stage. This year she is adorned in dark pink along with varying shades of magenta and purple. Her skin is painted white and her wig is very light shade of pink. Her makeup is different shades of purple. It’s loud and annoying to the eyes but it’s common for Capitol citizens to look this garish.

“Well, wasn’t that wonderful! Happy Hunger Games!” Effie trills in a high feminine voice. She smiles with a mouth of perfect blindingly white teeth. Somehow, they are even whiter than her skin. She stands there still smiling, almost awkwardly. “Let’s begin, shall we?” Effie walks over with a clack of hot pink high heels to the large glass bowl. She sticks a white hand into its depths and roots around. She skimmed from the top last year.

After Effie digs around for a few seconds, she pulls out a card. She breaks open the black seal and snaps it open. The crack of the paper is echoed throughout the square.

“Sam Winchester!”

No. That isn’t possible.

But it is.


	2. Chapter 2

Everyone in the crowd turns toward my brother. He towers among them with his six foot five frame. I look at him knowing fear is written in bold letters across my face.

It isn’t supposed to be him. Not Sammy. Not a boy with his name written on only four of those small papers. Why isn’t it me?

I watch Sam take a few tentative steps through the crowd that parts for him like a stone scattering a school of fish. I see him looking around in distress trying to catch my eye. It takes a few seconds but he finally finds me.

A multitude of different thoughts race through my head. I think of a hundred different scenarios in which he could be saved -- but there’s only one that I can come up with that could actually work.

I know how to hunt, to kill and to survive. Besides Sam and Jo, I’ve got nothing to lose. The only other thing I would have had has already been lost to me for more than a year. Which explains why I scream out the only thing that makes any sense to me in that moment.

“I VOLUNTEER!” I shout. “I volunteer as tribute!” I can hear it reverberate in the shocked silence. Six thousand pairs of eyes turn to me, but I’m only aware of a single thought that beats in my head like a drum. It’s the only thing keeping me from crumbling to the ground in a pile of panic.

Sammy is safe. Sammy is safe. Sammy is safe.

I walk with heavy steps through the crowd, elbowing other boys out of the way to reach Sam. We embrace with such obvious familial love that I can hear a sob or two in the crowd.

“You are not dying on me. You hear?” I whisper harshly as we embrace. My mouth is close to his ear and hidden by his long hair so the Capitol can’t replay our words. They are private and I intend to keep them that way.

“You didn’t have to, Dean. I can fight.”

“Not as well as me. You know that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Damned sure. Now get back in line.”

“I love you, Dean,” Sam says quietly. I can feel his tears fall through the short ends of my hair.

“Love you too, Sammy. I’ll see you for the final goodbyes,” I say, patting him on the back to signal the end of our embrace. Sam lets go reluctantly as two peacekeepers come to stand about ten feet away. I go with them willingly, leaving him to stand alone.

“Well now, that was touching, wasn’t it?” Effie Trinket practically coos from her podium. I shoot her a steely glance. This is when the Games start. It will not do me any good to appear weak before I even head to the Capitol. I climb the stairs that lead to the stage and walk toward this living caricature of human excess. Her perfume is heavy and cloying. It’s almost nauseating in its sweetness. In the strong light, I can see every pore on her face through the thick white makeup accenting the flaws of her age.

“I will bet my shoes that was your brother!” she says to me through the microphone. I turn to look into her powdered face and grimace in her direction. I know my face must look hard and forceful. It’s something I know will further me in the games. Looking weak is a weakness in itself from here on out.

                She smiles awkwardly at me when she realizes I plan to give her no answer. She decides to ask another question instead.

                “What is your name, dear?” she asks in the sickly sweet voice normally reserved for small children and animals.

                “Dean Winchester,” I bite out. My voice is veritable steel. I even manage to deepen it to imitate the deep, throaty voices of coal dust-ravaged throats. Effie shoots me the same awkward smile as before, clearly uncomfortable.

                “Oh, so I was right!” she laughs in her strange interpretation of a girlish giggle. It’s her way of trying to dissipate the tension between us. I grimace and dig my short nails into my palms. It will be over soon, I just have to get through it

 

                I turn to look to my left towards Madge who I can see leaning forward from within the line of her family. She offers me a sympathetic smile and I reply with a quirk of my lips. I see her family giving me sad eyes. I always like her mother. She is kind and tells me stories about my mother when she was young. She has the same golden blonde locks the color of golden wheat.

                “Now, the last boy!” Effie shrills next to me. I gaze into the crowd and am caught by a pair of blue eyes. I stare openly at him, realizing this might be my last chance. I realize I won’t be able to say goodbye to him. It hurts, so utterly and deeply that, for a single moment in time, I honestly don’t know how I’ll cope. I respond by attempting to forge thicker steel walls around my metaphorical heart. But of course, it doesn’t work. Not with those same eyes echoing my pain. They would always be my weakness.

We stare at one another, no time left to fix what is broken between us, until his name yanks me away from my thoughts.

                “Castiel Milton!”

                No, it can’t be. I must have heard it wrong.

But alas, I am right. I see his eyes widen as it sinks in. He looks around wildly, like a caged animal. It’s as if he believes he isn’t truly here and it’s just a horrifying dream.

It _isn’t_ a dream. A true living nightmare. And no one is willing to save him. Not one of his three brothers, whom I barely know, volunteers like I did for Sam. What I have done is almost unheard of. I am a breed of tribute all but extinct in District Twelve.

There is no one to save him now. The only person who would have is standing here as the first tribute.

And that hurts most of all. His last hope is doomed to either die or have to live on without him. And that inevitable reality cuts the deepest.

Two peacekeepers grab Castiel forcefully when he makes no move to come forward. He looks around wildly, eyes two pools of agony - still staring at me and I can’t look away.

The peacekeepers hold onto him as they climb the stairs of the stage. They drag him across the weathered wood until he stands like a forced-up rag doll next to Effie. They leave him standing up awkward and stiff with limbs sticking out at odd angles.

“I present to you, the tributes for District Twelve!” Effie shouts as she grabs both of our hands and lifts them into the air. I push my shoulders back and thrust my chest out proudly. My legs fall into a wide stance with my eyes hard and blank: trying to look terrifying while everyone around me seems to be radiating fear.

From the corner of my eye I see Castiel huddled in on himself even though Effie is holding his left hand up high. I can see his jaw clench while his lip trembles slightly in what I know is the beginning of tears. I turn to look him full in the face and see his right eyelid quiver ever so slightly. I’ll always know that tell, the one that signals everything in him is about to shut down and break apart.

He needs to get out of here.

 _Right now_.

Thankfully, the ceremony is almost over and Effie herds us off to the left part of the stage. The Mayor hobbles back up to the podium to give his closing speech which is mercifully short and sweet. Effie claps along beside us as she guides us to the doors of the Justice building that stand behind the stage. They are tall, roughly two stories, and are made of a deep dark wood. They open to reveal an opulent wood-paneled room with archways opening into six other rooms. The floor is glossy tan marble reflecting the light of the chandelier that hangs from the tall ceiling.

There is a wide red carpet in the middle of the room that contains two large couches facing one another. Behind them stands a wide staircase leading to the second floor balcony where I can see a row of closed doors running all along the railing. It’s beautiful yet sickening. People starve while the Justice building stands as a fantastical monument to the power and wealth of the Capitol.

I am caught up in my disgust and forget that we are supposed to keep moving. I hear a snap of fingers and whip my head in the direction of an official who points to the closest archway on the right. I hastily stride down the hallway to catch up with Castiel and Effie. As I walk, I notice that the walls are interspersed with bookshelves filled with at least a hundred books. They are stacked in visually pleasing ways and intermixed with statues, vases of flowers, pictures and other little knick-knacks. Just more unnecessary Capitol consumerism. I absently clench my jaw and fists.

I find Effie and Castiel a few doors down on the right. Stepping into the room, I see a wall of bookshelves behind me, two arm chairs and a small table with a vase of fresh flowers on it. Effie whirls around and snaps at me.

“You’re supposed to be in the other room! Go next door right _now_!” she cries, shooing me out of the room. I cast a glance at Castiel who is staring at me with wide blank eyes. I decide it’s now or never. I realize that I’d rather die happy than with regret. I’ve got nothing left to lose since the Capitol is taking everything anyway.

“This is NOT over, Cas!” I yell at him. He stands rigid, his face torn between sadness and wanting. It looks like he is about to say something but I turn and march out of the room and into the one next door. Inside I sit down in one of the armchairs near the window.

I look around the room and note that it’s identical to the one next door. Even the flower arrangement is the same. Outside the window the town square is deserted. No one stays at the Reaping longer than they have to. No one benefits from it. Well, that isn’t entirely true. There are the people who place bets and receive a return. The Reaping also benefits the Capitol citizens - whose seemingly bottomless hunger for entertainment, these days, can only be satiated by the death of children.

I sit and contemplate strategies and plans in my spare few moments. I think of Castiel next door, afraid and confused. I mull over ways I can protect him. Sam will be fine, hopefully. I think I’ve taught him enough to keep our family from starving. I hope Jo comes to see me before I head out to my death. I need to beg her to not let Sam go hungry no matter what happens. A thousand things could happen to prevent him from hunting. I have to make sure that when I am gone - and it’s not even an _if_ at this point - Sam will survive.

I have to make sure the two things I love most in the world don’t perish. That is the only thing that I know for certain.

My thoughts are interrupted when Sam walks heavily into the pristine room. His eyes are red as he comes forward to clasp me in a bone-crushing hug that I return just as fiercely. We stare at each other hard, memorizing every facet and every flaw.

“Promise me, Dean, you will do _everything_ in your power to come back. You hear me?” Sam cries out in a voice more suited to an older man. A voice so gruff, mature and deep that it shouldn’t belong to anyone his age. But that is what the Seam does to children.

“I can’t make any promises, Sammy. I’ve got Cas to think about.”

“I haven’t heard you use that nickname for a long time…”

“Nothing I feel has ever changed, you _have_ to know that,” I snap. I turn away and stare out the immaculately clean window. The sun lights my face as I rub my fingers on either side of my nose.

“I know, Dean,” Sam breathes out. He sounds almost annoyed.

“You know?”

“You’re my brother! Of course, I fucking know!” Sam replies harshly. I flinch slightly.

“Then you understand what I have to do.”

“I understand, but that doesn’t mean I like it. I will _never_ like it. But the alternative would almost be worse. I can see that,” Sam explains vaguely. His hand is rubbing the back of his neck and his eyes are shifting around nervously.

“What do you mean?” I ask. I can’t think of what he could possibly be talking about. How would me living somehow be worse?

“When Mom died, you were never the same. I remember,” Sam sighs. He closes his eyes as he continues, “You always smiled...laughed. No matter what happened, you always found the positive in things. You didn’t let life in the Seam get to you. And then…” He opens his eyes and they are shiny with tears. “You were hard. Just like Dad. You turned into this person that was just single-minded about providing and were reduced to just plain surviving. If you had been old enough, I believe you would have started drinking just like Dad. You ran off into the forest enough, doing God knows what, just to escape or whatever it was that you did. You didn’t think I knew, but I did.”

“I would have NEVER have turned out like Dad. Don’t you dare say that to m-”

Sam interrupts my tirade. “But then you found Cas. It was like the real you had been away for a while and then finally came back. You laughed all the time and you never walked around without a smile. You took Cas into the forest with you and whenever you came back home, you had this air about you,” Sam said, grappling with the words. “It was as if nothing bad had ever happened to you or could ever happen to you again. And then, one day it all changed.”

“When I left Cas,” I breathe out.

“When you left Cas, you reverted back to the old Dean. Even now, you’re still hard and driven. Even when you smile, Dean, it doesn’t reach your eyes. They stay cold and blank. It took me a little while to realize it but once I did, it was hard to swallow,” Sam says as a tear rolls down his cheek. He wipes it away with his sleeve as he looks up and away from my face.

“I don’t even want to know what you would be like after seeing Cas die. You would blame yourself and I don’t believe you would ever recover. Face it, Dean: he is your ultimate weakness; not that I blame you. If Cas dies, the best of what’s left in you will crumble. I don’t want to be left with a brother who is a shell of his former self. In the end, it wouldn’t really feel like you had survived at all.”

“I...I never thought of it that way. Wow, Sam, you’ve really grown up, haven’t you?” I reply defeatedly. I smile sadly and look to the ground. An overwhelming feeling of failure rolls through my body. I look up and see Sam looking at me fiercely.

“And you are not a failure, so get that look off your face,” Sam orders.

“You know me way too well, you know that, Sammy?”

“Well, someone besides Cas has to. Right?” Sam smiles sadly, his words slightly distorted by tears.

“Alright, you can stop your crying and give me another hug,” I say, opening my arms. My bones creak as Sam hugs me even tighter than before. We stand there for several long minutes until we hear a cough from the back of the room. We break apart and I see it’s John standing alongside Ellen and Jo.

I say my goodbyes to these women who have been such a huge part of my life. Ellen was a mother-figure to me and Jo was the sister I never had. A pang of sadness hits me sharply as they both look at me like I am a dead man walking, which is essentially true. Everyone in this room, except for John, knows what I’m planning to do without me having to spell it out.

Ellen shares a few of the tips she’s picked up while watching the games and they turn out to be very helpful. Jo and I end up discussing what to do for Sam after I leave. I get firm promises from the both of them that Sam will be cared for if I don’t make it back.

None of us have any illusions about what will come to pass. For now it’s just easier to use _ifs_ instead of _whens_.

I leave the last goodbye for John. It’s short and edged with a threat. I don’t tell him I love him. He doesn’t expect it which makes me feel better about not lending him false sentiment. All I end up saying is he’d better make damn sure Sam stays alive while I’m gone. But he knows what I really mean. Ellen stares my father down and he seems to shrink in on himself a bit, muttering, “I will.” His eyes look up into mine and they are just as glassy and clouded with drink as they always are. I sneer in disgust and turn to hug Jo and Ellen, who have started to cry.

I hold them and try to memorize their warmth. Sam joins in, wrapping his long arms around the three of us. This is my family and this is the beginning of the end. I want to live forever in this moment but life just isn’t that generous.

When we break apart, the time for goodbyes comes to a close and everyone shuffles out of the room. I am alone when the door squeaks open a few minutes later. I turn and see Madge standing there with her hands behind her back.

“I wanted to say goodbye before you left,” she says quietly. I observe her pretty white dress tied around the waist with a light blue ribbon that matches her eyes. I smile and open my arms. She runs into them and I slowly pet her hair like I would a sister. She cries quietly and I shush her.

“It’s going to be alright. I’m tough,” I reassure her.

“Dean, you aren’t going to come back.” She lifts her head and a grimace colors her features.

I wipe away her tears. “And who says that exactly?” I reply softly with a small smile.

“You’re going to sacrifice yourself for Castiel.” She looks at me dubiously, eyes narrowing into slits. “You can’t deny it. It’s true.” She pushes away and turns her back on me.

“Did everyone figure out my plan before I had even thought it up?” I ask. I must be more transparent than I thought. Or maybe the people closest to me just know me too well. I put my hand on her shoulder and slowly turn her around.

She watches me silently, her bottom lip quivering. “You aren’t as complex as you think you are, Dean Winchester,” Madge accuses.

 “Unfortunately, that is the truth,” I admit before sucking in a deep breath. “You know I love him, Madge… I-I can’t live without him. I’d give my life a hundred, no, a _thousand_ times over just so he could see another week. I’m the best chance he has of making it out alive. If things go the way I plan, it will be just the two of us in the end.”

“He won’t kill you. He’s a baker’s son, not a killer.”

“I’ve taught him how to hunt in the forest.”

“Killing animals is not in the same class as pure, unadulterated murder, Dean! You know that as well as I do.” She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. Tears spill down her cheeks in the process.

“Then I’ll make sure I kill whoever comes his way,” I reassure her, bringing my hands up to rest on her shoulders. She takes a deep, calculating breath.

“When it’s just the two of you, how is he going to kill the man he loves?” she whispers harshly.

“Who says he has to kill me?” I say softly around a sad smile. I can feel the tears gathering in my eyes.

“Oh no no no, Dean, you can’t do that…” She cups my cheek with her small hand. I cover her hand with mine and caress the back of it with my thumb.

“It might be my only choice, Madge.”

“We shall see.” She laughs humorlessly. I grab her hand and pull it away from my face. “This won’t be our last goodbye. You hear me, Dean? I can feel it.”

“Well then, this is just a see you later, right?” I smile grimly, the last of my tears sliding down my face.

 “Yes it is. When you get back, we will go on with our lives. I will you see you for our weekly delivery of meat and we can talk about how silly the Capitol citizens dress.”

“That sounds great,” I chuckle.

“Oh, and before I go, I might as well give you what I actually came to deliver.” She tilts her head as she feels around in a pocket hidden in the skirt of her dress. “Aw, here it is!” She exclaims. I look down to see an antique gold pin sitting in the palm of her hand. It is a circle and inside sits a mockingjay in mid-flight that has an arrow clutched in its beak. It was old and must be worth a fortune. It could keep a family in bread for _months._

“What is it?” I ask.

“A district token. It belonged to my aunt who died in the Fiftieth Hunger Games. Her name was Maysilee Donner. I think your mother knew her,” she says thoughtfully. I stare reverently at the pin as she continues, “She was smart and strong, just like you. I think it fitting that you should have it. My mother agreed with me.”

“This is too extravagant,” I say, holding my hands up to argue.

“It’s a gift, please accept it,” Madge insists as she deposits the pin into my hands. “I have little use for it. It just sits in a drawer at home collecting dust. It’s a veteran of these games and it shall bring you luck,” she says as she takes my fingers and folds them around the golden token. She slowly pets my enclosed fist.

“Alright. Thanks, Madge,” I say quietly with a tiny smile. I put the pin in my pocket before I circle my arms around her, hugging her firmly. She pries out her trapped limbs so she can return my embrace. Familial love flows between the two of us and I’m just as sad to leave her behind as I am Sam, Jo or Ellen.

“You’re welcome, Dean. Before I go, can you promise me one thing?” she asks, lifting her face to look at me in the eye. “Just in case I’m wrong, be sure you tell Cas you love him. Don’t let the last moments of your life be wasted. This may be all you will ever have.”

“I promise to keep that in mind,” I reply solemnly. I try to smile at her but what I come up with is more of a grimace. We hold each other for a moment longer before she stands on her tip-toes, and places a small kiss on my cheek. I respond with a kiss to her forehead.

“You’re the second sister I never expected to have,” I laugh.

“You’re the brother I always wanted,” she replies.

Those are the last words we say to each other before she leaves me alone again in the quiet room.

* * *

 

The next several hours are achingly, painfully boring. I don’t see Cas again until we are traveling to the train station. We go by car - one that is large and box-shaped with heavy tires. I think I hear Effie call it a ‘jeep’ while she perches uncomfortably between Cas and me. For the duration of the ride, she prattles on about a variety of things on our schedule and about how long it will take for the train to reach the Capitol. Cas and I look at one another subtly but we don’t dare breathe a word.

It’s only ten minutes later when the car comes to a stop in front of the long metal locomotive. It floats above the tracks in the same way the cars full of coal do back in our district. The train must use magnets just like the coal cars. I vaguely remember the technology being called ‘maglev’ during a long lecture in school.

“Dean! Cas! On the train! Hurry hurry hurry!” Effie cooes at us like we’re trained animals.

 I quickly snap out of my thoughts as we’re herded from the car toward the train. We climb the tiny steps leading up to the doorway of the train and are immediately transported into a lush landscape of lavish, pointless decoration.

All I can take in is a sea of blues, creams, dark wood and gleaming glass - the opulence on par with what I’d seen of the Justice building. I only get a brief glimpse of what they call the dining car before I am whisked away by a peacekeeper. She leads me down a few cars, each door opening automatically, before we arrive at what can only be described as a traveling “house”.

There is a room in the front that contains only chairs, sofas and a small couch called a loveseat that can only fit two people on it. I stare at the luxurious decor, taking in the rich colors of red and gold. I learn, through a thinly veiled insult to my intelligence, that this area is called a sitting room.

The doorway directly in front of me opens out into the living area where I see a large sofa snugged up against the front of a high table. This room is colored entirely in shades of green and the furniture is done in dark wood. It feels earthy, and I immediately think of home. It’s still extravagant, but somehow….cozy?

 The peacekeeper clears her throat and shows me a remote that turns on the tv. Light shines up from the device, a metallic looking thing is half a circle, it’s flat surface meeting the table. The image hovers in mid-air from a small beacon of light from within the device. At home, we have a government-issued projector, but its decades old. I stare in awe at the crystal clear image that doesn’t flicker; not even once.

I walk right up to the image of a reporter and slide my hands smoothly through her head. I smile like a child and run my hands through the projected image like I would a waterfall. I watch in wonder as the picture disappears and then reappears seamlessly around my hands. It’s almost as if my fingers were sewn into the picture like Sam’s blanket of rabbit furs.

“Mr. Winchester, I need to show you the rest of your rooms. Come here, _now,_ ” the peacekeeper orders sternly. I snatch my hands back and follow her as she points out the bathroom with its technical shower, mirror and toilet. She eventually leads me to the last room which is the largest. In the middle against the opposite wall is a large bed. The room is plainer than the sitting room and the colors are dull shades of grey. Everything is sleek steel and gunmetal black.

“Dinner will be served in an hour. _Don’t_ be late,” the peacekeeper tells me before she leaves. I’m left alone in the room and totally dumbfounded. I suddenly find myself unable to do or feel anything. It’s strange to have such a stretch of time in which I am unneeded anywhere. I’ve never had much time to be idle and to have such a wealth of it, well, I’m dumbstruck.

I wonder what that says about me, that once I am stripped of the duties and demands of daily life, I don’t know what to do; don’t know who I am. A part of me, which I rarely let speak, screams that Cas would know. With him, I would know _who_ _I_ am in this bizarre situation.

But I also think that this rare occurrence is, in itself, the true beginning of the end. That thought suddenly is the only thing left drumming through my mind like a military tattoo. Suddenly, I can’t breathe. I feel caged and without purpose.

I scream. Howling, loud and unthinking.

I fall to the floor and cradle my head in my hands. In an abstract way, I don’t really understand what my body is doing. I can hear myself, but that’s all. I feel as if I am in a room with a screaming animal, but feel no emotional connection with it. The feeling is completely alien.

 I keep wailing louder, filled with a terror like I’ve never experience before. I don’t feel like myself while my body shakes under the onslaught of this…this _seizure_ of emotions. I’m helpless. I can’t even feel the hands that come out of nowhere and slowly start to pet the top of my head.

“Dean. Look at me,” I hear someone rumble beside me. I look up into an ocean of blue. My calming sea that suddenly relaxes me.

“ _Cas?_ ” I say dumbly. I suddenly feel safe. The caged feeling has disappeared. I realize that moments ago I was entirely broken; smashed into smithereens.

Yet under his gaze, I feel whole.

“Come here,” Cas commands quietly. His arms open and I clamber into them like a child. He holds me as I feel a soft kiss pressed to my head. I’m still crying, but the wailing has stopped. I feel as if I should be ashamed of my display, but around Cas, I can only feel relief. It helps to realize that he’s seen me in a worse state than this. After several minutes, my tears dry up. I finally lift my head and look him straight in the eye.

“Thank you,” I utter quietly. I can feel myself blushing slightly as I turn my head away. He captures my chin and brings my eyes back to his.

“I know,” he whispers reverently. A moment later he gets up and stands, waiting for me to join him. I stand on unsteady feet and stare into his solemn face.

“You can’t do that again, Dean. From here on out, you have to be _strong_ and _brave_. Can you do that for me?” Cas says softly. He takes his hand and cups my cheek, using his thumb to gently caress my face. I cover his hand with mine, closing my eyes and pressing my cheek against his palm. I soak in his obvious love.

But then, like always, life puts me into free fall.

“I wish I could be there for you during this ordeal. If only we loved each other like we used to,” he sighs wistfully as he pulls away.

I look up and feel a sudden panic along with a pang of horrified surprise. It must show on my face as his eyebrows draw together in confusion and he takes a hasty step back.

“You didn’t think I still loved you, did you?” he asks, his words laced with undisguised disgust. “Give it up Dean, its over; _we’re_ over. Just because we got reaped, it doesn’t mean anything’s changed.”

I have no words. I stare at him, my mouth open like a fish. I breathe, but no words come out. Cas, taking in my shell-shocked expression, quietly leaves with a muffled, “I’ll see you at dinner.” I stand there for what feels like an eternity, trying to process and organize the multitude of thoughts and feelings crowding my mind.

I’ve _seen_ him watch me from the bakery shop window and at school. His expression when I was called to the Reaping stage was that of a man losing his reality. Those could only be the actions of someone in love. Maybe I was deluding myself? Perhaps, I only _imagined_ those things?

As the realization sinks in, I slink over to the bed and curl up on top of the covers. I take a soft pillow and sink my wet face into its feathery depths. I cradle it as silent tears start to fall and stain the silk covering.

* * *

 

When the hour is finally up, my tears have dried leaving no evidence on my face. I look in a nearby mirror and see that I look the same as when I entered the room, thankfully. I adjust my shirt by unbuttoning one button and I roll up my shirt sleeves to the crook of my elbow.

When I enter the dining car, I see someone new has joined us. Bobby Singer, the winner of the Fiftieth Hunger Games, sits poised with a drink in his hand. His cheeks are slightly red which, in my experience, means he’s already drunk off his ass. Of course, I also remember him wobbling on the stage, obviously inebriated. I shiver in disgust as I think of how John is constantly in the same state.

As I walk closer to the table, I see practically every square inch is laden with food. There are many dishes I’ve never eaten, much less _smelled_ before. I sit down and am hit in the face by a wall of delicious aromas. I notice the rich tang of beef, pork and chicken. I even spot a large whole fish visibly steaming on an oval plate. Every dish is artfully garnished like a tiny painting. On another table nearby, I see tiered plates of cookies and other desserts. There is easily enough food to feed at least thirty people.

Having spent the majority of my life perpetually hungry, my heart starts to beat a little faster in excitement at the sight of the feast spread out before me. I sit down and look around, hoping for some signal that it’s okay to dig in, and manage to catch Cas’ eye. He seems be watching me with slight pity, probably from the tearful scene earlier, and that realization has me lowering my smile and sitting up bit straighter.

 “Would you look at this car? Oh my! And _look_ …its mahogany!” Effie coos as she pets the table fondly. “You are all _very_ lucky to have access to such splendor! Why, last year, the tributes didn’t even care! Not at all! Their manners were atrocious, just simply **atrocious,** ” she says, scandalized. Her eyelashes flutter rapidly.

“You get used it, the luxury and what have you,” I hear Bobby mutter from behind his glass before he drains it halfway.

“Wouldn’t the citizens of the Capitol have access to all the mahogany they would ever need?” I ask sarcastically, but the sarcasm seems to go straight over her head.

“I, myself, have a few pieces of mahogany in my own home, but not this much! It’s frightfully expensive. Maybe if I had a tribute actually win this year, I could get a room paneled in the stuff! Oh, wouldn’t that be exciting!” Effie exclaims.

I stare at her in shock. It was plainly obvious how she would view Cas and I throughout the games and it didn’t fill me with hope. Thankfully, what little hope I do have isn’t for my sake. Despite everything, I am still going to make sure it’s Cas who goes home; not me.

“You never know, maybe there’ll be a flood that wipes out all the competition for one of us and then you can get all that mahogany, Effie,” I say with a barely disguised sneer. Of course, Effie doesn’t notice.

“We can only hope!” Effie smiles with her purple-stained mouth. Bobby seems to catch my joke and throws me a smile before taking another swig of his drink. I look over to Cas but he seems to be enraptured by the hot, fragrant beef in front of him.

“Why don’t we let these boys eat, Effie? I can see this one is about to jump out of his skin for that steak there,” Bobby chuckles. He leans over from his spot next to Cas and deposits a piece on his light blue plate.

I take that as an invitation to dive in and grab everything in sight. The best thing I can do now is put on some weight. It will help me in the arena. In most of the games I’ve watched the contestants starve most of the time. Some have even died that way. Plus, without any calories, any bit of body fat I have left will vanish like smoke on a breeze.

I manage to put away two full plates of food and feel physically ill at the end of it. I groan with my hands clasped over my stomach.

“It’s nobody’s fault but your own. At least you had the decency to eat with a fork and not your _hands_. The pair from last year dug in with their _fingers_ , their fingers! They were animals! And, they were _ladies_. It was absolutely disgusting,” Effie trills. I’m getting tired of her voice. Each sentence is loud, high-pitched and punctuated with invisible exclamation points.

“T-tonight, you, you’ll, I mean ya’ll are going to rest up and-and _sleep_ , you hear? Tomorrow, we-we are gonna,” Bobby stammers drunkenly, grasping about to find a word, “PLAN, we are gonna plan what our game plan is gonna be. Alright?” I look into his red face and nod slightly.

“Good work, team! And Bobby, sober up. Go to bed,” Effie chastises. I get up immediately and head toward my room without looking back, just as Cas starts walking toward his room too that is in the opposite direction of mine.

I decide to explore the bathroom in my personal train car so I can get ready for bed. The first thing I notice are the lights that glow from the depths of the mirror on the wall. They run vertically along the left side and I press one and startle when I hear a voice ring out. It’s female and something about the tone has goosebumps of pleasure springing up all over my body.

“ _The temperature outside is sixty-eight degrees. The sunset is at 8:34 pm and the sunrise at 6:25 am. The weather forecast is for sunny skies.”_

I press another light that is in the shape of bubbles.

“ _Hand soap selection. Pine, Lemon, Rose, Lavender, Peppermint and Coconut.”_ The selections are written on the mirror in glowing letters. I ponder the choices and decide to go with the scent I’m the most familiar with. I press the glowing letters that read _Pine_.

Immediately a spout of some sort pops up next to the faucet. I don’t see any sort of lever to deliver the soap and yet when I accidentally hover my hand underneath the spout, a green liquid oozes from the nozzle into my palm. I curiously lift my hand to my nose and instantly get a whiff of pine trees. If I close my eyes just right, I can imagine myself in the forest surrounded by greenery.

I rub my hands together and decide to do the same thing I did with the soap spout and water starts to flow. I wash my hands and dry them with a nearby towel. It’s soft like grass and before I know it, I’ve taken the towel from its ring and I’m slowly rubbing it against my cheek. I close my eyes and imagine my head on a bed of soft spongy grass in the middle of spring.

I put the towel back and I inspect the drawers underneath the sink. All I find is deodorant, toothpaste and a toothbrush. I do my nightly routine, using them all and head off to bed.

I strip my clothing and fold it neatly onto a small lounge chair in the corner before sliding in between the soft, silky sheets. I don’t fall asleep right away. My mind turns dark, thoughts creeping into a corner of my brain full of cobwebs from disuse. Memories surface of hot lips, the sultry burn of stubble on thighs and gasps that shatter into achingly sweet groans.

My hand has a mind of its own as it slowly trails up my thigh and to the waistband of my underwear. I close my eyes and imagine another pair of hands teasingly sliding the garment down my legs to my ankles. My hands mimic the movements from my memories and soon, my body is naked underneath the sheets; writhing in the first flush of ecstasy.

The sheets feel soft against my overheated skin. They drag tantalizingly over the raw nerves of my erection as I buck my hips. I wrap myself in my fist and with an aching slowness, rub a sweet sensation that lights a fire in my veins. It’s been a while since I’ve had the liberty, or the time, to imagine; to feel. I keep my eyes closed as my fist trails leisurely up and down echoing the pace of the mouth and thick, pouty lips I’m revisiting in my thoughts. I recall the slick slide of his tongue artfully flicking the underside of my head. I groan as I twist my hand sliding my fist upwards.

As my imagination grows, and the fantasy Cas grows bolder, the pace of my hand increases. I begin to touch my chest with my free hand and imagine that it’s his. I even dare to suck on my index finger and swirl it into my mouth wantonly, just how he liked it. He always said my lips were made for sucking his cock. That thought sends a bolt of pleasure through my body and my pace quickens.

I decide to stop just a few moments later, right as I am on the brink. I want to make it last a little longer. I tease the sensitive underside with a trailing finger and groan. I roll onto my belly while keeping my cock in my fist. I start to thrust forcefully into my hand. I imagine a strong body underneath mine with sculpted shoulders and a trim waist. I visualize my hips smacking toned cheeks as I impale him hard and fast.

But then, my mind shifts the positions. This time, it’s me underneath his hips as he powerfully thrusts into my tight heat. I use a spit-slicked finger to tease my entrance before sliding inside to circle the tiny bundle of nerves I find there. I remember the way he would take me roughly, yet, somehow, still treat me as gently as a breeze through the forest. The soft kisses against my neck, the wandering fingers in my hair; it was heaven.

I add a second finger and can feel myself approaching the edge. My moans are muffled in the pillow as my fuck my fist harder and send my fingers deeper. I close my eyes and picture his hands tight around me as he takes me fast and rough. My recall of his desperate groaning is so vivid, the thought of it is the last thing I remember before my vision goes static and I trip over the edge into release.

I pant through the aftershocks of my orgasm and feel an overwhelming sense of loss. The loss of warm arms and stubble rubbing against my cheek. I feel even more alone in the wake of such bliss.

It’s my own fault, really. I willingly stepped into a corner of my mind I’d been avoiding for good reason.

Shame rolls over me as I’m left with the sticky aftermath drying quickly on the soft sheets. I get up and find a couple of hand towels in the bathroom to clean up the mess. I even use a pump or two of soap for good measure.

I lie naked on top of the damp sheet, arms and legs spread out like a star. The air is warm on my skin as my eyes start welling up. To be strong, my tears have to be spent now; not saved until later.

Sam was right when he said that, since I lost Mom and Cas, I haven’t been the same. Alone in the silence, however, my fears and regrets strip away at my hardened exterior. I feel like my shell peels back, leaving me feeling exposed - my fragile skin pink and vulnerable. I can feel the tears pool at the outer corners of my eyes and my lip will not stop quivering. I sniffle and curl up on my side.

If the Capitol could see me now, they would chalk me up as nothing but a walking corpse; Cas too. I wonder how many bodies have lain in this very bed and wept like I do now. Boys, girls….gender isn’t really a factor when it comes to these dire circumstances. My father would say, “Shut up. Take it like a man. Winchester men don’t cry.”

I do cry and I don’t care.

If these are to be my last moments, they are going to be mine and no one else’s. That last thought finally lulls me to sleep until I wake to the sun shining in my eyes. The train moves silently at speeds I don’t have a name for. I climb out of the soft bed and drag my Reaping clothes back on.

I go through my morning routine then walk to the dining car for breakfast. Effie is standing in the corner on the phone. Today, she is wearing an alarming shade of green that cascades into a multitude of different hues. Her lips are a forest green while her hair is almost blinding in its neon green brightness. She is sporting a dress with small geometric shapes cut out of it and very large standing collar, circular in shape.

Bobby is dressed in a suit and tie and already seems to have spilled alcohol on it this morning. From the color of the stain, it looks like whiskey to me. I see that Cas hasn’t arrived yet which somehow relaxes me. I pull out the chair and take in the assortment of breakfast foods. Everything is heavily garnished, but it’s food I do faintly recognize. I grab as much as my tiny plate can hold. I divide the food into sections so the syrup wouldn’t get onto the bacon and the jam wouldn’t end up in the eggs.

“So, _boy_ , what are your plans for staying alive?” Bobby says contemptuously.

“You didn’t say please,” I reply back. I look up and his face is creased by a frown.

“Don’t sass me, boy. If you want to die, that’s just fine with me. Go on with that smart mouth and see where it gets you; which is back home in a pine box,” he snarls at me. I watch him take a swig of whiskey and shove a piece of bacon into his mouth.

“You eat?” I say quietly.

“What do you mean?” Bobby asks around another forkful of bacon.

“So far, I’ve gotten the impression you seem to be on an entirely liquid diet.”

“Don’t _sass_ me, _boy_!” Bobby yells at the same time Cas walks into the room and speaks.

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas says sternly. I shut my mouth and cast my eyes down to my plate.

“Huh, so the idjit actually can listen to someone. There may be hope for you yet, son,” Bobby says in my direction. I grab another piece of toast and try to curl into myself.

“Now you...Castiel, was it?” Bobby says around a mouthful of food. “Tell me your skills. What are things you can do that would be useful in the Games? Basically, how many ways could you murder someone?”

I choke on my food and promptly start coughing. Cas gets up quickly and starts patting my back. I end up coughing up a few eggs but otherwise, I’m alright. I mutter a quiet thank you when Cas takes his seat.

“I prefer Cas - not Castiel.”

I freeze for a moment and look over at Cas. He doesn’t acknowledge me and keeps speaking. “I grew up in town. You can probably safely assume that whatever skills could come with baking are the sum of the skills I have. I decorate cakes, bake bread, make cookies and bake pies; hardly skills worthy of a killer.”

“He’s lying,” I say before I can stop myself.

“Actually, I’m not,” Cas argues. His eyes brim with anger.

I smirk at him and continue, “What he’s not telling you is that he picks up fifty-pound bags of flour from the train and brings them all the way home. At least ten of those bags every week. He has the back, arms and shoulders of a dock worker. If you don’t believe me, you can feel them. I’ve seen them with my own two eyes,” I say to Bobby, not once looking at Cas.

“ _Two_ _years_ ago you saw them. I could have changed since then for all you know,” Cas retorts with a hint of a blush. At least I’m not the only one still affected by memories of our past.

“Moving on from whatever the hell it is you two just implied, I’m going to make a safe bet Cas could tackle a grown teenager,” Bobby growls.

“Precisely. He can throw that much weight too. I saw him throw a heavy boulder once and it was quite a sight. So don’t let him fool you. He’s strong,” I say before shoveling three pieces of sausage into my mouth. “Oh, and he can run fast for a long time,” I say around the food.

“Now that we’ve establish Cas here is strong, and _fast_ , what can you do, _boy_?” Bobby asks me.

“First of all, the name is _Dean_ and I’m alright,” I growl before shoveling more eggs into my mouth and swallowing them. “I can shoot an arrow. I know how to field dress an animal and catch rabbits by snare. Nothing much,” I say nonchalantly.

Cas laughs, “Oh, now **that** is a lie. My father, he buys squirrels from Dean. He shoots them _right through the eye_. Clean shot every time. Just the other day, he killed a buck with just _one_ arrow between the eyes. He and his brother carried at least a hundred pounds of meat back to town, so he’s really strong, too. I even saw him carry that heavy bag to and from the mayor’s house.”

“He also knows the forest better than anyone else. He knows the names of all the plants and how to make snares from tiny bits of wire. His mother even taught him how to throw a knife expertly from a hundred feet away.” I stare at Cas shocked, surprised he remembered everything; and especially surprised that he knew about events that had happened so recently.

“Go on then, boy. Throw that knife there wherever you like in between the boards of the paneling,” Bobby instructs. He sits there waiting as I stare at him.

My face breaks into a snarl. “My _name_ is _Dean_!” I growl, throwing the sharp knife we used to cut the ham across the room.

“Well, I’ll be damned. You throw just like a career from District One,” Bobby says with pride. I get up and walk over near a shocked Effie who is staring at the knife protruding from the wall. She’s still holding the phone up to her ear and her face looks horrified. It’s almost as if I’ve shot a baby right in front of her very eyes.

“THAT. IS. MAHOGANY!” she yells, outraged. I look over to her and sneer as I yank the knife from the wood where it landed precisely between the boards.

I walk back to the table and stick the knife right into the ham. I smile with a quick twist of my lips and then go back to eating my breakfast.

* * *

 

For the rest of the day, I stay holed up in my room. I explore the space from top to bottom and decide to take a shower at one point. It’s a new experience with all the odd knobs and buttons. There are at least fifteen choices for shampoo alone. I go for something that, supposedly, will make my hair soft like silk while smelling like pine. I even use a body soap that smells like cedar. In a matter of minutes, the small enclosed shower smells like a forest.

It smells like home.

Once I’m washed, the shower tells me to stand on the mat for several seconds. I stand there rigid in fear. A second later, a small current of electricity runs through my body and when it’s over I feel completely dry. I pat my head and even my hair is totally dry.

“Oh!” I squeak when my fingers run through my short locks. I’ve never felt anything so soft. This must be what clouds feel like. I turn and look in the mirror at myself. I look happy which is strange. But I soon frown when I notice that my hair doesn’t look like it normally does. At home, I use a homemade gel I purchase at The Hob. I think the base is an animal fat, but it smells woodsy and fresh and I use it to sweep my hair just slightly over to the right every morning.

That is the way Cas always liked it. I remember the day at the Hob, he used what little money he had to buy a tin of the hair gel for the first time. He then spent an hour trying to style my hair in the most attractive way possible. The memory is still fresh in my mind.

_“Dean! I’ve got it. Hold still and don’t move a muscle,” he instructs as he swipes his fingers to the right in a repetitive motion._

_“What happens if I decide to twitch my eyelids?” I playfully respond with a waggle of my eyebrows._

_“I’ll punish you,” he replies, seemingly dead serious. I know better._

_“Do tell….sexy.” I smile as I watch him burst into a fit of giggles._

_“Such a flirt, whatever will I do with you?” he says before gently kissing me. It’s like sunlight on a summer’s day. The smell of fresh-baked bread in the morning. Pure_ heaven.

_“Love me?” I ask coyly._

_“Always, Dean, always,” he breathes against my lips. I smile and resume kissing him until he sighs in pleasure. He sits in my lap and eventually, we edge our way off the boulder I’d been sitting on. We roll around in the grass, his body on top of mine. He cradles me in his arms as his kisses travel to my neck._

The memory brings back the loneliness and the despair. It feels like a drug each and every time. Pain shoots through my chest and tears blur my vision. Silently, I gel my hair off to the right in artful waves. The mirror now shows that the happiness on my face from before has evaporated. And soon after, I put my clothes on and walk to my room.

I sit in the dark thinking for hours. Eventually, lunchtime comes and I leave my sanctuary. This time Cas is sitting there when I walk in and he’s already halfway done with his meal. Bobby and Cas talk strategy and discuss the other contestants. I listen with half an ear and dig into my meal.

We learn of the tributes chosen in the other districts, and their trainers, who Bobby is acquainted with. We learn of the careers Marvel and Decimus of District One. They both volunteered like all of their predecessors. District Two is Cato and North, who likewise volunteered. I lose track by the time they’re talking about District Three and only the names Rufus, Thresh, Hart and Ivo penetrate my stupor.

The moment I finish eating, I head straight back to my room. I sit in the dark and decide to work up a plan. A plan to save Cas. I need to think up a way to downplay my skills so the career pack won’t consider me a threat. During training I can demonstrate an ability to survive which could barter my way into the career group - that is until they have no use for me anymore.

Then, I will kill every single one of them. To save Cas. Yes, that sounds just almost convincing enough for me. It’s all for Cas.

But then, I remember about the sponsors. They are important too. Sometimes, a gift from a sponsor can be all that stands between life and death. In the Hunger Games, the Capitol citizens will place bets on who will win. Those most heavily invested in the odds, can tip them in their own favor by keeping the tribute they’re betting on alive. A gift of water or medicine could make the difference between a live competitor or a dead tribute.

Our trainers are supposed to do the work of bargaining and begging for sponsors. Sending anything into the arena is expensive, even for Capitol citizens. Bobby will be managing the sponsorship funds while petitioning citizens. So in essence, in the end, he’s just as important as we are to our own survival. He is our operative on the outside while, inside the arena, all we can do is kill and survive.

I try to adjust my plans accordingly and end up frustrated. I’ll just have to find a way to get into the career pack. They usually band together until the very end and then turn on one another. I just hope my survival skills can win them over.

I struggle with my thoughts until I’m suddenly bored out of my mind. Heading to the living room, I turn on the television. All of the coverage is focused on the Games. The clip of Caesar Flickerman repeats again and again - where, in an embarrassing act of theatrics, he tearfully talks about my decision to volunteer for Sam. Onscreen, the enthusiastic host smiles with a mouthful of blindingly white teeth and a dark green wig. It’s the same color as he wore for the Games broadcast last year, which leads me to believe that the color will change during the opening ceremonies just like every other year.

I sit there, mostly numb at this point, as I watch my stoic face on the screen as I walk away from Sam. It’s the second time they’ve shown that footage in the past two minutes. I think of that embrace and of his long arms.

I miss their familiar warmth. He hugged just like mom did. Strong, but still gentle.

Somehow, I feel hungry again and, to be perfectly honest, I need something to do with my hands. I get up from the couch and enter the dining car. I see a tiered plate of cookies and cakes and, after looking around furtively, snatch the thing. I start to walk quickly away when I realize that I need something to drink, also.

I turn around and find the refrigerator: sleek grey, almost like graphite. I open it to find various liquids in clear plastic containers. I read the names aloud.

“Orange juice, cranberry juice, sparkling lemonade, lemonade and apple juice.” I don’t know what “sparkling” means, but I don’t care to find out. I grab the apple juice and lemonade before walking back to my living room. I sit the spoils next to me on the couch and spend the next hour watching tv and laughing at the painted idiots of the Capitol.

* * *

 

Dinner goes by quickly and there isn’t much conversation. Effie tries to talk to us about the Games, but we both ignore her inquires. Another lavish banquet of food is spread out for us and again, I fill myself to bursting. I also think sadly about how the rest of this food will be thrown away. But there is no use in thinking about something that cannot be helped.

When I walk back to my room, I groan softly from the pain in my belly. When I bend over to take off my shoes, I moan from the pain in my gut. Even getting into bed is a chore as I sit there feeling like an overstuffed pig.

I eventually fall asleep while working up more strategies to use in the Hunger Games. I end up dreaming about running through the forest back home. I run from something I cannot see. It goes on for hours until I wake up bolt upright. I turn to look at the clock and see it is only six in the morning.

I drag myself to the sofa in the living room, blankets and all, and while away the hours watching tv until breakfast. For Capitol citizens like Effie, mornings don’t even exist until at least ten a.m.

That must be nice.

Breakfast is an affair in itself. Effie is dressed head-to-toe in gold. Even her hair sparkles from the metallic threads sewn seamlessly into her wig. Her lips shimmer with gold and her nails are tipped with the same color. Her outfit today is short and…bubbly. The skirt shaped like a bell and her feet are encased in heels that look like claws. The effect is disgusting, in short.

“Today we arrive in The Capitol! This must be so exciting for you two!” she almost shrieks before sipping at her cup of tea. She grimaces slightly before dropping in another cube of sugar and stirring it with a tiny golden spoon. She taps it against the edge before continuing.

“When we arrive, you will greet the citizens that have come to welcome you! Then, you’ll be whisked away for a beauty treatment! Afterward, one of the Capitol’s greatest stylists will help you with your wardrobe and go over your ceremonial costume.”

“Dean, this is where you are gonna have to perk up that sunny disposition of yours if you hope to have any chance of getting sponsors,” Bobby instructs.

“Why aren’t you telling Cas any of this?” I retort.

“Because Cas here doesn’t have an attitude problem like you do. You’ve been holed up in your room like a squirrel during winter while this boy here has been asking me questions. If anyone has a half chance, it’s this kid.” Bobby points to Cas who grimaces more than smiles.

“So if you ever want to see that brother of yours again, and yeah, I saw that touching display a hundred times on the news already, then you better shape up and listen.” Bobby sighs and downs two fingers of whiskey.

“You are going to turn that frown upside down and act like you are coming home to your family. Smile like your fucking life depends on it, because boy, it does. Blue Eyes here might not be smiling now, but I can guarantee the _moment_ we enter the city, he is going to be smilin’ like the sun on a hot summer’s day,” Bobby tells me sternly.

I look up from my food and shoot him the biggest, fakest smile I can muster up.

“Turn down the creeper factor and you’ve got a start,” Bobby almost laughs but he catches himself - mouth going back to a thin line. “Be warned. When you get your ‘beauty’ treatment, it’s not going to be a fun ride. They are going to practically sand your skin by the end of it. They even wax off your facial hair.”

“What’s waxing off?” I ask curiously. I’ve never heard that phrase before.

“Waxing off? You’ve NEVER heard of it? How do you even LIVE in your District? Everyone must be hairy like apes!” Effie shrieks. Bobby looks at her as if he is a hairs-breadth away from strangling her and I don’t blame him one bit.

“It’s where they take a thick gel, kinda like honey, and put it on your skin. They warm it up first, a’ course. Then, they put a strip of cloth over it and pat it down. They take the edge of it and RIP it back off in the opposite direction your hair grows. It tears every hair from its follicle.”

“How much does it hurt?” Cas asks tentatively.

“Almost like a kick in the balls. Close, but not entirely as bad,” Bobby winces.

“And people subject themselves to that over and over again?” I ask in horror.

“Most do, especially the women. I hear it hurts less over time but I don’t believe it for one minute,” Bobby says.

Dammit, no one said anything about ripping hair from anywhere. I wonder if they’re going to wax all of my body hair off. I hope not. I stiffen at the thought of that much pain before I even enter the arena.

The conversation eventually turns to what our schedule will entail. Just the bare basics so we have some type of warning of what to expect. It seems that after the opening ceremonies, we will be taken to the towers that house the tributes. The next day, we will go off to the training center to begin learning skills that will be vital in the arena. Then, privately, we will display our skills in front of the game makers and be scored. An impressive score is a great way to gain sponsors and allies, but a lot of the time, it’s a reason for other tributes to put you at the top of their ‘Who to Kill First’ lists. Lastly, we have our televised interviews with Caesar Flickerman to attempt to garner the adoration of the Capitol citizens and sponsors.

It sounds exhausting in its entirety, but every day spent outside the arena is another day I get to live. My days are numbered, and so very few, that I intend to appreciate every minute of them, no matter what.

Once breakfast is done, we all go our separate ways until we reach the Capitol. The wait is only a few hours and soon, the train is flooded by darkness as it speeds through the tunnel carved inside the mountains that surround the city.

I look out the window and the towering buildings of glass and steel greet me.

They also seem to mock me.


	3. Chapter 3

The train begins to brake slowly as we get closer to the city. A shimmering lake, the size of a small ocean, sits beautiful and gleaming outside of the city. Boats and shipsbreak its calm waters as they glide across. The spires of the buildings gleam like icicles on a sunny winter morning. Each building is a different shape, height and width creating a unique landscape like nothing I’ve ever imagined.

When we pull into the station, it is something from another world. The one back home has rusted signs, faded paint and weeds. It looks worn and tired which never made sense to me. When City officials would come to town, our station would be broadcast across Panem. You would think they could scrounge up enough funds to make it look presentable. But Twelve is always forgotten.

 I admire the station as it glitters like a new coin - all sleek glass and metal. Statues in wild colors stand proud twenty feet apart from one another. They come in strange shapes and interpretations. In my wildest dreams I could never create something so bizarre. A few statues move and some even have water features. An interesting one near my window shoots a bit of water in the air and its limbs move to catch the falling drops. It’s fascinating.

My attention is then drawn to the citizens - on display like a shimmering rainbow of excess in garish clothing. Each one is dressed in a way that could drag your attention away from a person on fire in the middle of a busy town square. Their clothing comes in all shapes, designs, colors -- _creativity_ with the barest nod to actual functionality. I see one woman who is wearing a skirt that looks like the spiral peel from an apple. It wiggles with every move and I can see she’s wearing nothing but matching underwear underneath. I spot a gentleman whose facial hair is blue, long and styled to look like a rolling ocean. Inside his beard sits a small ship and a whale. 

Some of these people have even dyed their skin in different colors: pink, green, baby blue and even as black as the night sky.Not the normal skin tones  you would find on a natural human, but something foreign and unnatural. I suddenly miss the seam with it’s  neutral colors **.** Brown eyes with black hair set in tan skin, green eyes against rose-tinged skin with brown hair, blonde hair with blue eyes and light skin and all the combinations. I feel like I’ve entered another world entirely and in the pit of my stomach, I feel slightly terrified.

I gaze out the window toward these strange creatures as they wave and blow us kisses in adoration. I just sit and glare at them. Their greedy natures and twisted passions have taken me from my home, and eventually, from Cas. They don’t deserve my smiles. They are the reason for what is so wrong in this nation of ours. Their bottomless greed: so unquenchable that the murder of children is the only thing to pacify them. I sneer and turn away from the window crossing my arms over my chest.

As I turn, I realize with a shock that Cas is waving and smiling at the passing throngs like a good little tribute. He laughs lamely and even, to my horror, blows a kiss. A _kiss_. Disgust rolls over me in a dark wave.

I want to throw up. Preferably on the waiting crowd.

“Perk up, Princess. Otherwise it’s your own damn funeral,” Bobby growls at me from his seat at the table. He pulls out a well-hidden flask and takes a long gulp. I glare at him.

“Why should I? These _idiots_ , who probably wouldn’t be able to survive without their damn hair dye in the forest, don’t deserve anything from me.”

“Well son, these _idjits_ are the only thing that can keep you and Twinkle Toes here _alive_. So I recommend you start stuffing the sour puss routine and follow your friend here’s lead,” he replies with utter seriousness. I understand what he is saying, but it doesn’t make it any easier to put into action. Plus, the drinking just reminds me of my father who is anything but a model human being.

I just shake my head and continue watching Cas as the train slows to a stop. He is still smiling and waving enthusiastically. I grumble under my breath and spot all of the women nearby waving at me. I scowl fiercely and close the curtain. I walk over to the pastries sitting on the dining table and dig into something filled with apples and cinnamon.

Effie walks in gleaming like she has been dipped in pure gold outside AND inside. It’s beautiful and very unsettling.

“Come along tributes, meet your _adoring_ public!” she keens. Effie walks over to Cas and pets his hair quickly, attempting to get the wild mass to lie flat. It’s impossible. I should know: I’ve tried. But, I would never complain about hair that looks like it went through a sexual tumble all night long. A bolt of arousal shoots straight to my crotch at the mere thought. I blush slightly and discreetly place my hands over the apex of my thighs, just in case.

In a matter of minutes, the door nearby opens with a mechanical whoosh into a cacophony of screams and cheering from the crowd . I cover my ears at the onslaught of noise. The screams are jarring and I can feel them vibrate across my skin. I look around wildly and see Effie directing us to the open doorway. I lift my hands away from my ears with a grimace and follow right behind Cas.

The sun shines brightly in the cloudless sky and bounces off every jewel in the decorated crowd. I squint my eyes and try not to look at them too closely. Their chaotic mass of clashing color is just as painful as their screams. I don’t know how, but the train’s window had somehow dimmed the color so, outside in the bright light, the effect was even more off-putting.

 A car waits for us fifty feet away. It catches my eye the moment I turn down the long aisle flanked on one side by a barricade. The car beams like metallic salvation and I practically sprint to its open doors. I climb into the comfortable lime green interior and wait for Cas and Effie to arrive. They take several minutes to show up. I assume Cas and Effie took more of a stroll and really enjoyed the fawning crowd. I shiver in disgust at the thought of Cas batting his eyelashes at the masses and making an utter spectacle of himself. Under these extreme circumstances, I wouldn’t put it past him.

My mind circles back around to the crowd again and I peer out of the small window in the back. They were still there and still screaming. Suddenly all l wanted to do was scramble out of the car and start punching them in the face. Every single one of them. Yelling “ **WHY?** ”

But I stay in the safety of the car.

The two slide in soon after and I find myself squished against the door while Effie, again, chooses to sit in between us. She chatters relentlessly and I do my best to ignore her. I draw myself inward and create a fantasy where the Capitol citizens are chosen for a Reaping and we get to watch them cope without caviar or body glitter. It makes me smile to think of them suffering in a small arena, where their usual gaudy dress turns them into brightly-clothed easy targets.

The ride is relatively short and we soon pull up in front of a pale yellow building - wide but only two stories high. The lobby is sleek with chrome and stainless steel. Pictures of winning tributes of the past, now celebrities in their own right, decorate the walls.

 I know each and every one of their faces. It’s hard to forget them when they are interviewed each year during the Hunger Games. Once you win, you never really leave public life. The Capitol drags them up to the city every year to get their take on tribute strategies and to find out who they are rooting for.

Some victors do hide from the public eye due to madness or some other affliction. Some become trainers to future tributes. I don’t know why anyone would voluntarily do that, but I suppose they could be chosen instead. Some live in the Capitol as celebrities: normally the career tributes from One or Two. The rest return home to live in their respective districts.

Once a tribute wins, they take part in a victory tour six months after they win, visiting every district and attending a special celebration held in their honor. I believe the victory tour is meant to keep the Games fresh in our minds and to give the Capitol something to look forward to.

You’d think with such excess at their fingertips, that things to do would be easy to come by. That you wouldn’t need something like the Hunger Games to keep the masses entertained. But then there is the aspect of punishing rebel leaders long dead.

Effie leads us quickly through a set of steel doors into a large room sectioned off with curtains. From what I can see, some tributes are already being worked on as we speak. Sounds of groans, tools and scissors can be heard in an ocean of noise. I look over at Cas who is looking just as perplexed as me. I shrug and he smiles a little.

We walk all the way to the end and we are separated into two of the sectioned-off areas. Inside, two stylists stand there with large grins pasted on their faces. Both are terrifying in their awful style choices. One has green skin, sharpened teeth, black eyebrows, black hair styled into a cone shape and is draped in a midnight black asymmetric dress. The other looks less frightening. She is almost entirely pink and her hair is styled in swirls that almost remind me of a tree. Her lips are baby blue and she is wearing pants that look like bells on the bottom with a shirt that twinkles like a thousand stars.

“Hello! We are your prep team! I’m Chandra and this is Stacia. What is your name, sweetheart?” Chandra cooes. I step back a little and pull my lip up in a small snarl.

“Dean, Dean Winchester of District Twelve,” I reply angrily. I hold out my hand to shake, politely, but Stacia grabs it to inspect my fingernails instead.

“Dreadful, just simply dreadful!” She rotates my hand and brings her eye within an inch of my fingertips. She titters at the ragged stumps of the nails I have a habit of chewing. I snatch my hand back and glare at her. Not everyone can afford manicure treatments. I don’t even think there is a place in town to have such a thing done.

“It’s nothing we can’t fix. Darling, I want you to strip naked for us, if you please,” Chandra instructs with a genuine smile. I don’t say a word and silently start divesting my body of clothes but I make sure to still look angry. Stacia still smiles wide and scoops up my clothing and puts them in a small bag that she sets on a chair. I’m assuming they will be sent back to my family in the eventuality of my death. I think of Sam and feel my angry snarl falter.

The chill of the room racks my body as I stand there naked and the women stare at me thoughtfully. I feel pinpricks of gooseflesh warp my skin and it causes me to shiver.

“He will need a body buffing for all those scars. He isn’t as scrawny as some of the District twelve boys I’ve seen,” Chandra mutters to her partner. I look down and observe the small nicks and scrapes that I’ve picked up from hunting most of my life. A particularly jagged scar runs on my side from falling against a sharp boulder. I touch it absently and think of Ellen, who sewed it up for me. She had put love in every stitch.

“Definitely a facial wax and a Brazilian wax. Let’s keep the rest of the hair, he pulls it off nicely. We should also pluck the eyebrows and give him a manicure. Probably a pedicure as well.” I listen as they quietly discuss flaws I never even realized were worth noticing.

“Dean, honey, would you lie on the table for us?” Stacia cooes. I look at her with mild disgust but do as I am told. The leather underneath me is cold, but very soft and supple. I watch them from the corner of my eye as I see Chandra bring in a pole that has a bag attached filled with clear liquid and a small machine.

“What is that for?” I ask nervously. Attached to the bag is a small tube that is attached inside the machine and then comes out the other side. I haven’t seen anything like that before and I get images of being drugged and then dropped into the arena. I know that won’t happen, but the image pops up anyways.

“It’s called an IV. We will be injecting an anesthetic that will knock you out for roughly thirty minutes.” I stare at her in confusion. What are they going to do to me? My heart races in panic as my breath quickens.

“Why am I being put under?” I ask, my question edged with palatable fear.

“The body buff is painful for first timers, especially for you men with all of your scars!” Chandra giggles. “And just in case you are naked in the arena, we are going to circumcise you to prevent infection. Plus, the viewers find it distasteful!”

She grimaces slightly before she wipes something cold on the inside of my elbow. Then she pulls a length of rubber and ties it around my bicep. She uses her thumb to find the large vein that stands stark against the crook of my elbow in my right arm.

“Alright, sweetie, on the count of three it will pinch, so be prepared!” She takes up the needle that connects to the machine. I brace for the pain, which upon contact, is surprisingly minimal. I barely flinch.

I feel an overwhelming sense of accomplishment until my world starts to slowly fade away. Like a watercolor picture that becomes soaked with water, it melts until I’m falling into blackness.

* * *

 

“Wake up, sweetie! We are just about to give you a pedicure!” The lights are too bright upon opening my eyelids. I flinch from the pain of it. I don’t understand what is happening. I feel _so heavy_. Everything I perceive is annoyingly slow. Beyond the feelings of sluggishness, I feel a new sensation of a stinging burn all over my body; especially on my face and crotch.

My right hand moves to feel my other arm when the needle in the crook of my elbow blossoms into a different sort of pain. It doesn’t feel like a pinch, but a clinging sense of _wrong_ tugs at the area. I decide to use my left arm to touch my body instead. The first thing I feel is complete and utter smoothness. No scars litter my body in a patchwork of past memories. They are all erased.

It makes me sad. The scars were visible markers of things I’ve done in my life and they are gone. Then, I panic and try to feel for the scar in the middle of my left palm by rubbing it against my stomach.

It’s gone.

 I feel an overwhelming sense of loss as I rub the now smooth patch of skin against my belly. There had been a line there from when Cas and I became what we called “blood mates”. We each sliced the  other’s left palm, then clasped hands, bringing the two open wounds together so that our blood would intermingle in each other’s veins. At the time, it was the ultimate thing we could do to acknowledge the bond we had in both love and friendship. We had promised to be lifelong mates that day.

It was gone now. His would be gone, too. A pang of loss swirls within me and I feel a tear, a single tear, leak out of my right eye. It falls, landing on the leather table.

My prep team chatters amongst themselves and I ignore them. My body still feels heavy, but a mixture of pleasantness flows within. It makes me feel ill when the two sensations combine. It makes me feel less genuine.

It feels like twenty minutes roll by before the light stops bothering my eyes. Things around me come into focus. I’m still naked upon the table but something white around my crotch catches my attention. I try to move my upper body upwards to get a better look. It’s painful and difficult to do, but the shock I receive overwhelms everything.

My cock, the entire shaft, is wrapped in gauze.

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY COCK?” I shout in fear. I try to wiggle away from them when they both grab me to still my movements. I also plainly notice that every bit of hair from the area is gone. It’s smooth and the skin is lightly covered in a rash.

“You just had a circumcision is all!” Chandra says calmly with a smile. I look at her dumbstruck. And then I remember them using the same word earlier before they put me under.

“WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?” I shout hysterically. I don’t know that word. It scares me. It sounds foreign and alien somehow, just like the Capitol citizens. I want to leave. I want to go home.

“We snipped the foreskin from your penis. It looks normal and clean now!” Stacia oozes with a bright smile. I stare at her in horror because I know what the word foreskin means. I feel mutilated. I lie back and stare at the ceiling in horror. So they couldn’t just take my dignity and my life, they had to take my foreskin too.

My mind goes, thankfully, blank for the next hour. I’m cleaned from head to toe but I don’t care. I sit numbly as they shampoo my hair, soap my body, give me a pedicure/manicure and lotion up my skin. I’m struck dumb in silence and whenever my prep team tries to talk to me, I don’t utter a word. Eventually, they just begin to only talk amongst themselves.

When they leave, along with the bag of what I realize now was a painkiller, I fold my arms across my stomach and wait. Evidently now is the time my official stylist would come to exam me. I tap my stomach with the fingers of my left hand along with melody of a song in my head. A song my mother used to sing to me. It spoke of love and the breaking of bread around a fire like you would during a Seam marriage ceremony. It calms me until I feel a presence nearby.

“Hello, Dean. My name is Cinna. I will be your stylist during the Games,” he says calmly. I sit up and turn with my legs hanging over the edge. I peer up at him and I am shocked at how normal he looks. I expected him to look the epitome of an outlandish Capitol citizen but thankfully, he doesn’t. His clothes are simple, expensive and elegant. They are made up of clean lines and muted colors. The only adornments I see are the golden threaded lines in his waistcoat and the wings of golden eyeliner. His skin is a beautiful natural shade of brown like the bark of the trees in the forest back home. His hair is the same texture of those from District Eleven and coal black. His face is handsome and all sharp angles with plump lips like Cas. My astonishment must show on my face.

“I’ll take it from your expression that I was not what you were expecting. I believe to look well, simple is best. Wouldn’t you agree?” he states quietly. He holds out his hand for me to take which I immediately grasp. He helps me off of the table and gives me a once over. Immediately a feeling of overall soreness hits my skin. It must be from the body buffing. Erasing that many scars couldn’t be completely painless.

“Nasty business, circumcision. I disagree with the practice before the Games, but alas, it is not in my control. Everything should be healed about now. The wonder of modern medicine never ceases to amaze me.” His words drip like honey and I am left blinking in the wake of them. I am not attracted to this man, but he brings a sense of awe. He is bright, like a burning sun. I feel as if I’m a planet, helpless but to drift around him. I feel like I want to soak up whatever he has to offer. I’ve never felt something like this for another person and it’s strange to grasp the concept.

“Do you want me to take off the bandages or would you be more comfortable doing so yourself?” he asks. I look down to my hairless crotch where my cock lies at an angle across the top of my thigh.

“I’ll do it. I don’t mind,” I say quietly. I look at it for several seconds before I bite the bullet and start unraveling the gauze from around my shaft. I stare at it in fascination. It’s beautiful, somehow. It looks the same way it does during sex, but it’s soft.

“I never expected it to look so much better,” I say thoughtlessly. I straighten my back and cover my privates with my hand as I remember I am not alone.

“You are neither the first, nor the last, to say so. I do have to say, that is one of the perks of being with Capitol men. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be with a District Twelve man, but I have a feeling you do,” he laughs with a subtle wink. I feel a bit of embarrassment for him since, after seeing the display of men in the train station, a circumcised cock would at least be one benefit to balance out what might end up being something like accompanying electric blue pubes.

“How do you know I even like men?” I counter with a soft shy smile.

“It’s not obvious to everyone else, but you love that boy next door, don’t you?” I stare at him and I feel my face harden. My fists close tight and I look away. “Everyone was looking at you and your brother on the broadcasts. Me? I was looking at the dark-haired man whose face looked he was burning alive on an invisible stake,” Cinna says softly as his hand gently grasps my shoulder. “And your face, on that stage, when his name was called? You were drowning and no one could hear your screams. Lucky for you, I did,” he smiles sadly as his thumb caresses my shoulder in sympathy. The touch feels calming, just like my mother’s did. I close my eyes and sigh.

But then my eyes snap open,“Wait! What do you mean by that?” I ask defensively, steel edging on my voice.

“With my level of expertise and rank of seniority, I could have easily picked a career tribute. After seeing you? I had to have District Twelve. I saw something that is worth preserving. I saw someone who would lay down their _life_ for another person. In the Games, that is truly a treasure.”

“If that is true, then you know what I have to do.” I take a deep breath and try to offer a little smile. He didn’t deserve my hatred. He was someone willing to help and look in-between the lines to see a worthwhile cause. I couldn’t fault him for that.

I look straight into his dark eyes and plead softly, “Help me to help _him_. Do whatever you can so that I can go into that arena and make sure he gets home. If only one of us can survive, it has to be him,” I say with as much conviction as I can. He stares at me for a minute with sadness in his eyes.

“I can do that for you, if you’ll trust me.” He holds out his hand and I grip it tightly.

“It’s all yours,” I reply with a slight smile.

* * *

The next several hours are a blur with Cinna at my side. He keeps me as natural-looking as possible, which I appreciate more than I should. He thinks my manly home-grown look will intrigue the audience. I’m just thankful that the makeup on my face is minimal.

The only adornment on my face is eyeliner penciled around my eyes. Looking in the mirror, I have to admit that my eyes seem to be my dominant feature now.

I’m put in a coal black jumpsuit with touches of metallic grey made out of a thin material. It’s deceptively simple, with little embellishment, and almost looks like it has scales that reflect the light.

I feel fortunate that my costume is so modest. I’ve never been one to walk around half-naked even on the hottest days in Twelve. The boy’s years usually devolve into a contest to see who can wear the least. It offers intrigue for the audience, but I find it perverted and decidedly unnecessary. Three years ago, for the lumber district, Seven, the male tributes only wore a strategically-placed leaf and a few rhinestones pasted on their bodies. They really would have been better off naked. Thankfully, I wouldn’t have to suffer such embarrassment.

“What am I supposed to _be_ exactly?” I ask Cinna looking down at my jumpsuit. He looks at me with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

“Now, _that_ is going to be a surprise for both you _and_ the audience.” He holds up a little plastic remote no bigger than the size of my thumb. “When I press this, don’t be alarmed. Whatever happens will not harm you in the slightest. Do you trust me?” Cinna asks, walking towards me and putting a finger under my chin.

“Yes,” I say with steady conviction. He smiles his approval.

“Now, before you are ready to see that lover of yours, we need to finish your hair. I liked whatever was going on up top during the Reaping. It’s an older style, but it suits you. Show me?” he asks with a gentle smile. I nod and instruct him to find me some hair gel. He picks up a small container of the stuff and sets it into my hand. I coat my fingers and work them through my hair until it starts to look almost windswept. It takes several minutes to finely sculpt everything in the mirror nearby.

When I finish, Cinna nods in approval and finally pulls back the curtain. We stand in the long makeshift hallway that spans the entire room of curtained-off sections. I hear muffled noise twenty feet away before the curtain nearby rips back to reveal Cas.

I stand frozen; completely transfixed.

He looks stunningly beautiful. His eyes glow blue and the metallic black of the suit contrasts well with his golden-kissed skin. His dark brown hair is glossy and the style slightly mimics mine except his hair is thicker and just a touch longer. His eyes are ringed in a touch of eyeliner just like mine. I stare openly - mesmerized by the steel blue color of his eyes.

He seems to be staring blatantly at me as well if his wide eyes are any indication. His lips are opening slightly as if a word is on the tip of his tongue. I feel the slightest spark of hope and attempt to cut the tension between us.

“So, did they mess with you a bit downstairs, too?” I say. It’s the first thing I can think of and I know immediately it was terrible choice. For a millisecond, I think I see the barest hint of a smile but then he looks mildly offended. I bow my head and scratch the back of my neck and look away.

It hurts for everything to feel this awkward. It makes my skin feel tight and itch uncomfortably. All I can think is, what happened to us? What happened to the days when love shone from his eyes like a rising sun warming the landscape of my body? We’ve changed so much and become so distant.

When I decide to look back up, his expression soon settles back into silent contempt and a mask of indifference.

“Yes, circumcision seems to be a common practice for tributes,” he replies stiffly, crossing his arms and eyes staying level with mine. “They think it will seem more _appealing_ to the Capitol.” I watch him grip his arm sharply until his fingers go white. At least he’s as angry as I am; that’s something.

I look over to Cinna who is observing both of us closely. I feel a sense of warmth from his presence, but it isn’t enough to dampen the coldness I feel from Castiel. I decide to fight the ice with fire.

“Yes, because our cocks are so important for the viewer’s pleasure,” I snort. I absently scratch the incision site and catch Cas watching my movements. I lift an eyebrow at him and he blushes slightly. I’ve managed to melt his icy facade just a bit and he seems suddenly disconcerted, visibly grasping for something to say. Now _there’s_ the Cas I know.

Cas thrusts a hand out towards Cinna, stuttering “I-I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Castiel Milton.” The stylist grasps his hand gently and gives him a warm smile.

“I’m Cinna, surname not necessary. Pleased to finally meet you.”

“He’s pretty cool, huh Cas?” I laugh. Castiel’s eyes flick over to me and harden. He doesn’t reply and instead turns back to smile at Cinna. A new plan starts to take shape in my mind and I smile mischievously.

“So, Cas, where’s your stylist?” I ask, with an enthusiasm that seems to startle him.

“I think she left before I came out here. Her name is Portia and I only saw her for a bit,” he says emotionlessly. I grimace at his tone.

“She probably went to go talk with some friends. A lot of the stylists aren’t as invested in their tributes as I am, unfortunately,” Cinna remarks, his lips twisting contemptuously.

The atmosphere is awkward and tensions are high. I decide to engage the two of them in useless small talk to pass the time until the ceremony. During the twenty minutes of mindless conversation, Cas continues to stare at me coolly and I keep trying to chip away at his defences.

Somehow, by the end of the conversation, I have been rewarded with one small smile thrown my way. I tuck it away and cherish it, as a triumphant warmth floods my chest and I can’t stop grinning.

When the Opening ceremony is about to start, two Capitol coordinators come and lead each pair of tributes into a large room with ceilings over seven stories tall. Each sound echoes and bounces into a cacophony of noise. I find it unsettling and do my best to ignore it.

There are twelve chariots lined up in four rows of three. Attached to each one are a team of horses stunning due to their sheer size and beauty. They are adorned with gilded reins and tall feathers attached to a leather strap over their heads. The bridles themselves are encrusted with glimmering stones that catch the light. Each chariot is matte black and simply designed. It must only serve as a backdrop to whatever garish costume the tributes wear. I look around and gawk at the different costumes of each tribute.

One pair are shimmering with what looks like plated gold and wear headdresses with golden wings that shoot out on either side of their head. They wear ancient Roman-style clothes from an era thousands of years old. They remind me of the gladiators from centuries ago that I remember from a textbook. Their pale skin seems to shimmer from a light dusting of gold metallic glitter.

Another pair is wearing briefs are covered in fake seaweed and is painted in different shades of blue body paint. Not much is left to the imagination and I feel a wave of secondhand embarrassment for them.

I spot a pair nearby who must be from District Eleven and their faces seemed familiar to me from tv. Much like the majority of people in the Seam, they look so much alike they could be related. It’s what happens when Districts are so isolated from each other.

Their hair is black and trimmed so closely it’s not much more  than a shadow of color. Their eyes are nut brown and the whites have a yellowish tinge. Their skin is a deep shade of brown that almost borders on black. They are from the agriculture district and are neighbors to Twelve. They may be far away, but I still feel closer to them than any other district here.

I catch the gaze of the taller of the two and he narrows his eyes down to slits. I decide to try my luck with the smaller one who is staring at me openly with a slight smile. If I remember correctly, his name is Rufus and the other is named Thresh. I finally notice their costumes and they seem to be conservatively dressed, like us, to a point. However, they are wearing only overalls over their bare glittering chests and I’m reminded again of how thankful I am for my shimmery jumpsuit.

Cinna snaps me out of my observations, and guides Cas and I onto the chariot. We end up standing a bit higher than we were before, so I am able to get a better glimpse of the tributes as each one climbs upon their own vehicles. Arranged before me is a sample of each of the Districts and I’m awed by the differences I find in each one. When you live in a place where everyone looks the same, it’s hard to remember that other people in the nation don’t have tannish skin with dark hair or blonde hair like those of Twelve.

“Watching the games on tv, you don’t really get the full impact on how different we all are,” I say to Cas, who seems to studying everyone closely himself.

“I was just thinking the same thing. Could you imagine what we all would look like if we had access to one another’s districts?” he turns to me, face serious.

I smile. “Well, they would end up looking awesome like you and me. You’ve got a little Seam in your Townie and I’ve got a little Townie in my Seam,” I boast as I gesture to both of us. Cas actually smiles back.

“You’ve got a point, blondie,” he teases with an elbow to my shoulder. I relax and elbow him back.

“Whatever Brunette..brunettie? Fuck, I don’t even know. And hey, I’m not even blonde. I’ve got brown hair just like you!” I retort. “Well, not as dark as _you_.” We laugh and grin at one another until it melts into soft smiles as we stare at each other.

“You’ve got a little blonde.”

“Fine, a _little_ , but I’m still a brunette.” The banter is wonderful and for just a moment, it feels like we are a flirtatious couple again and I bask in the feeing.

“You guys ready to go?” Cinna calls out to us from below. We both turn toward him, startled.

“As ready as I’ll ever be. Anything we need to do?” I call out. Sudden nervousness roils in my belly and I can feel myself frown.

“Smile, hold hands and look unified. Don’t be alarmed if anything happens, like I said before. Alright?” Cinna instructs. I nod my head while Cas does the same. I catch his eye and we both look awkwardly at our hands.

“It’s only for the ceremony,” I offer quietly. Part of me is yearning for that small bit of contact and having an excuse to do so makes me excited. I just hope Cas doesn’t refuse.

He looks up at me and smiles sadly. “I know,” he replies, with something that sounds a bit like regret, before he takes my hand and our fingers intertwine.

A feeling of utter rightness slots into place and I can feel my heartbeat between our clasped hands. The pounding ticks down the seconds from every corner of my body. I don’t realize I’ve stopped breathing until painful pressure seizes inside my chest. I gasp and take some large gulping breaths.

Cas looks at me confused, with a questioning glint in his eye.

“Nervous, that’s all,” I reassure him, trying to mask the feelings that roll like a tidal wave through my nerves. It’s a strange combination of fear and the warmth of love. They clash like toxic waste in an untouched forest. So wrong and violent. I try desperately to grasp onto the warmth and fight the fear.

I fail miserably.

Cas squeezes my hand and his soft thumb rubs soothing circles over my knuckle. The calming motion, little by little, crushes the fear into tiny pieces and I start to feel calm and relaxed. That was one thing Cas always knew how to do. Just one touch and I was grounded.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

I’m about to say something else when a symphony of noise grabs my attention. I search for the sound and realize it’s coming from all around us. It must be the start of the ceremony.

I focus on the soothing circles and squeeze his hand in response. We smile warmly at each other and turn toward the large doors in front of us as they start to open.

The setting sun casts a warm orange glow upon what looks to be an open hall that leads to a small arena. I see thousands of people who yell and scream, each discernible word lost. The crowds are an ocean of bright colors and glitter. Every imaginable color combines to overload the senses.

We watch in fascination as each chariot pulls out and lines up neatly. District One always leads the pack and we will bring up the rear. We hear Caesar Flickerman’s booming voice excitedly announcing each District and each tribute’s name.

The emotions each tribute’s face ranges from the absolutely delight of the career tributes to the pure anger that seems to radiate from District Seven’s tributes in waves. Cas and I will try to aim for the happier side to please the blood-hungry citizens of the Capitol. I will put on a brave face to save Cas. If that wasn’t on the line, I’m certain my expression would look as sullen and upset as Seven.

My heartbeat picks up pace in anticipation once District Ten departs. In just two minutes, it will be our turn. I don’t have the will to smile but I have to find a way. It hurts to know that in these last days of my life, each bit of my true self will be burned up and destroyed, beginning right now.

The games don’t just kill you. They make you sacrifice who you truly are, which I somehow find worse. Even if you win, what is truly left of you? Hopefully when Cas wins, he will be strong enough to keep some part of his true self alive.

“Dean, smile,” Cas commands with a squeeze of my hand. I flick over my gaze and realize my mouth is in mid-snarl. I melt my expression into what I hope is a pleasing smile.

“Better, but you still look terrifying. Think of a happy memory; think of Sam,” Cas instructs. However, my thoughts don’t turn to Sam, but to a different memory. One of a warm summer day when Cas and I lounged near a flowing river, sucking on blackberries we had found growing nearby. The dark, fragile fruit had stained his lips and tongue a deep, purple-red. I sat with my arms around Cas and lazily kissed his hair. I remember the smell of it. The heady smell of baked goods with a lingering scent of lavender.

“Much better. Now you actually look pleasant.” A feeling of happiness envelopes me from the happy memory and for a moment, I give into the pleasant feeling of nostalgia. Part of me pretends that Cas and I are still together to make the memory even sweeter.

The bucket of ice water that is reality drops over me and leaves behind a residue of nervousness when I’m suddenly jerked forward. Our chariot starts moving and I almost lose my footing. If it weren’t for Cas holding on to me, I definitely would have fallen to the floor.

Our carriage travels fast and a moment later, we are surrounded by screaming Capitol Citizens on either side. Fields of flashing cameras, hovering video camera, and screens broadcasting our faces flank us.

And then... I’m on fire.

I stare down in shock and I panic when I realize I feel no pain. Tongues of fire lick up my body and blaze brilliantly. The simple black of our jumpsuits is a perfect backdrop for the dancing orange and yellow flames. Fire covers me from my neck to my wrists and all the way down to my ankles.

I remember Cas next to me and I realize he has my hand in a death grip. His fist shakes white and a look of panic is on his face, too. I stare down at the flames swirling near our entwined fingers and I want to touch them, but I don’t know if they are real or not, so I decide it’s best to keep my hands to myself.

“Cas!” I whisper as loud as I can. “Don’t panic! Cinna said not to be worried. We’re fine. Do you feel pain?”

“N-No,” he stutters.

“Then we’re ok. And, you can ease the death grip now. I’m probably going to need that hand tomorrow.” He looks down, startled, and eases the pressure. Blood flows back into my grateful hand like water over a broken dam.

“Remember, smile. Just like you told me,” I insist. He looks at me, then smiles calmly.

“That’s my boy,” I say without thinking. He turns to me with a strange look on his face, but then the smile is back before I have time to analyze it.

 I focus my gaze back to the chariot in front of us and smile like I was instructed.

Halfway down the long hall, I get an idea to really get the crowd, and more importantly, the sponsors, on our side. I take our entwined hands and lift them in the air in a salute of solidarity. The crowd explodes with glee and screams at our proud gesture. I can hear Caesar shriek throughout the place, his voice running and excited narrative.

“Look at this beautiful pair of tributes from Twelve! I’ve never seen two so **united**! They are saying ‘We are from District Twelve and we are PROUD to be from where we come from!’ That is what tributes should aspire to be, don’t you think? And look at them all ablaze in fire! Their stylists really outdid themselves!”

I smile slyly and keep my head held high. The nervousness slips away like a leaf in the wind and all that is left is confidence and determination.

I can do this. I can do this for Cas.

We ride to the small arena where the chariots are fanned out in a semi-circle. We are the last to arrive and face a podium sitting high on a balcony. The flags of Panem and the Capitol hang proudly behind in it, picked out in gold and silver. Nearby I see torches and heavy red curtains, artfully draped, signifying elegance.

Behind the podium, I can barely make out the chairs where a handful of people that I barely recognize sit. They are a variety of colors in colorful suits and dresses and, although their clothing and style isn’t as gaudy as the citizens I’ve seen, they still stand out. I figure they must be the most important people in the government underneath President Snow.

Snow: the one who leads our “noble” nation.

I’ve seen him on television with his pure white hair, thick altered lips, artificial cheek bones and hooded eyes. His skin is pale with a tinge of pink and his body looks soft and unthreatening. But he is anything but. Everyone knows he is the most dangerous man alive. His word is law and he is a snake who lacks any sort of moral fiber. While he may sometimes come across as charming - what most people fail to realize is that even the stuff of nightmares can smile and laugh. Luckily, I’m not blind to that fact.

I watch Snow approach the podium dressed in the closest thing to what I’d consider normal clothing that I’ve seen in the Capitol. If I had seen him any other place, and didn’t know his name, I would label him as a mayor. No makeup adorns his face and his only decoration is a small white rose attached to his lapel. Maybe he too realizes the farce that is the Capitol and decides to not fall within its illusion.

At this point, Cas and I have our hands back down near our waists, but we hold onto one another not out of duty, but of reassurance. Any other moment I would bask in the affection like a starving man, but the fear and contempt I feel for Snow blots out everything else.

“Welcome, one and all, to the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games! As you all may be aware, it is the boy’s year. Standing before me, I see strong and powerful young men who will sacrifice themselves selflessly to atone for their ancestor’s mistakes.”

I feel myself start to shake as anger clouds my vision. My free hand is balled into a blood red fist and the phrase “sacrifice themselves selflessly” repeats endlessly in my head. It devours every other thought and races around every corner of my mind. To say such a thing to those who didn’t choose this “honor” is, in itself, the most dishonorable thing I’ve ever heard.

Cas, for the second, or maybe third, time today squeezes my hand to get my attention. I turn to him and it quickly centers me. The thoughts stop running and everything dissolves when I look into his eyes. They remind me a stormy sky and I get lost inside their color. I stare in awe at the dark pigment that lines his eyes, framing all their glory. My eyes drift to his plush lips that shine after being slicked by an errant tongue. I itch to drag my fingers over his soft, hairless cheek and down to the sharp bone of his jawline.

I catalog each of the facial feature that I memorized years ago. I feel him do the same to me and a blush starts to creep onto my cheeks. A long ago memory surfaces of Cas telling me how beautiful I was in the heat of my blush. He would kiss my cheeks and run the tip of his tongue over the small swells of flesh. I bite my lip and watch him turn his gaze back to Snow, who is telling another story of the Games. I’m not paying any attention. All I can focus on is Cas.

Soon, I am  lost in my own little world. A world that seems to have been plucked from the past and re-slotted here into the present. In this moment, it’s just me and our clasped hands as a new reality descends. Snow’s authoritative voice fades out of existence. The arena melts away to reveal a sunlit forest on a spring day. The sounds of the crowd are replaced by a gentle breeze and the twittering of song birds.

It’s strange to live in a moment inside another moment. I didn’t think it possible, but Cas always shatters my expectations. I never expected to fall in love and to want all the things that would perpetuate this horrifying reality of ours, but he managed to break down my defenses and conquer me all those years ago.

Now, all the things I said two years ago seem stupid and pointless. Visions of giggling children with dark hair and blue eyes run through the bright fields of green in my mind. I can envision Cas and I chasing around after them. Laughing in a small cabin, surrounded only by candlelight and meager food. Holding the hand of my child as we stroll through the Hob. Making love quietly with only the light of the moon to illuminate us. Hunting in the forest all day as Cas sells baked goods to the townspeople. Now it all seems so possible and so attainable but fate has other plans. It always does.

The sounds of enthusiastic cheering drip through my fantasies like ink dropped in water. It blackens everything in its wake until the true reality of darkness is all that is left. The visions of what could have been our happy family life explode in a burst of color and noise. I shake my head and look away from Cas who is shooting me a concerned and confused look.

All of those fantasies and wants aren’t possible. Maybe back in Twelve, but here? One, or both, of us will be coming back from these Games rotting in a pine box. I let go of Cas’ hand and try to remember my objective. Save Cas. He goes home, I don’t. The future I imagined cannot, and will not, ever exist.

I don’t dare look at his face but I feel iciness wafting from him. It would be easier this way. Any plans I had of trying to make every second count before my inevitable death evaporate. It will be easier to distance myself and focus. Feelings cause weakness and weakness gets other people killed.

I tune back into the ceremony as it comes to a close. Snow drones out his closing remarks and wishes the citizens of the Capitol a happy Hunger Games. He turns to the tributes and opens his arms wide with a slight sneer.

“And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor.”


	4. Chapter 4

An hour later, Cas and I arrive at the tall building that houses every tribute of all the Districts. It stands noble against the skyline and from the outside, I can see President Snow’s mansion on the hill. There are no windows on the first floor. I only see a pair of dark heavy doors. With a chirpy Effie in tow, we enter the spacious room that houses two elevators within thirty paces of the doorway. We all squeeze into the cylindrical glass elevator that greets us with a robotic voice. Effie presses a button with a glowing number twelve on it, swipes a card and the elevator begins to rise smoothly. The air inside is warm and punctuated by Effie gushing how “lucky we are to get the penthouse suite”.

I couldn’t care less.

Cas hasn’t acknowledged me once since I let go of his hand, and along with it, all my selfish dreams that would have muddled everything. We stand arm to arm but I focus on my breathing to distract myself from the warmth and the tension radiating from him. A sinking feeling roils around in my stomach the entire ride.

The elevator soon arrives at the top floor and opens out into a space that could sleep over two hundred people. From what Effie is saying, these are our apartments until we enter the Arena. I expected something decorated more like the train but what greets us is modern-looking concrete with splashes of color in the art pieces, flowers, furniture and carpets. It’s all sleek and very simple, but very expensive.

“Make yourselves at home! Dinner will be served in an hour!” Effie tells us before disappearing into a nearby room. I’m thankful I won’t have to hear her grating voice for a while.

I turn around to Bobby who stares with complete boredom at the floor, his eyes bloodshot and glassy with drink. Cas stands there, hands folded, and seemingly confused.

“So, Bobby, where do we sleep?” I ask, turning to him with my arms folded.

“Do I look like a damn housekeeper?”

“Who the hell am I _supposed_ to ask!?” I bite out angrily. I just want to clean the eyeliner from my eyes and change into something a little less…itchy. Something that doesn’t feel so hot and sweaty.

“Damn idjit, **_fine_** , I’ll go find Effie,” he growls as he stalks to begin his search.

“So, what did you think of the ceremony, Cas?” I decide to try my hand at a bit of small talk to clear the tension. He turns to me and glances up from the floor to my face with a look of complete indifference.

“Nothing I haven’t seen on tv before. The only thing really different were these costumes somehow catching on fire without scorching our bodies.” He gestures down toward his dark metallic jumpsuit.

“I’m gonna have to ask Cinna about that. That was pretty cool,” I admit with a small laugh. Cas just keeps staring at me with a blank expression. I feel like I’d get the same reaction if I were talking to a log or a bush.

“So….” I cough and look around, “this place is pretty fancy. A load of concrete, but it’s a little cool. Of course it would be nice to have some woods and natural colors.” Anything that resembled nature would make me more infinitely comfortable.

“The decorations are pleasing. I like the colors in that painting over there,” he nods his head to the right. I see a piece of artwork hanging near the archway that leads into the open dining room/living room.

The painting is a beautiful interpretation of a park except the colors are inverted. The grass is red and the sky green. The people are yellow and the benches blue. But the colors come together to create this pleasing sense of harmony that I can’t place. It just…works.

“I know what you mean. The colors are awesome. I couldn’t think to make something that crazy but it somehow makes _sense_ ,” I marvel. I walk closer to the painting and reach my hand out to touch the blobs of dried paint. They are smooth with rubberized feel. The mountains and valleys of paint create their own geographical landscape. “How do people just take colors like that and somehow make them go well together?” I mutter. I feel a presence next to me and I turn to see Cas staring at the painting, too.

“There are only so many combinations of colors that complement one another. Once you have those parameters in mind, you can test the limits and push the boundaries to create works like this. Any artist could have made the grass green,” he takes a hand and lightly touches the waves of paint that make up the red grass. “But what makes the difference is that the integrity of the picture is never compromised, even when everything is colored ‘wrong’ by our preconceived expectations of what should be and what shouldn’t be. It makes you re-evaluate your reality and expand on what you believe to be true.” He drags a finger over the pathway made of blues and purples.

“In the end, you evaluate not the subject matter or the technical aspects of the scene at hand, but just the harmony of shades. You see, the park is just the background to the real subject, which is the mixture of the colors. It’s easy to take in and process without drawing too many opinions or personal preferences.” He sighs and smiles a little, “That, right there, is why I like it and anyone else will. Including you, someone who has only seen the art of Mother Nature and not of man.”

I stand there in awe with my mouth slightly open. Held at gunpoint, I could have never drawn such a conclusion. To me, it was something simple and attractive that decorated a wall. To Cas? It’s an opportunity to fully realize an opinion and give it logical life. I’m amazed.

“That was beautiful, Cas.” It truly was. With his quiet demeanor lately, I forgot the intelligence that bubbles beneath the surface.

“Anyone could have drawn the same conclusions,” he replies shyly, his façade cracking just a little. I decide to poke at his clever disguise of indifference just a bit more.

“No, they couldn’t. I could have sat here for a lifetime, trying to figure out why I liked all these weirdly-colored things, and I would’ve never even come _close_ to that explanation. I always forget how smart you are,” I compliment softly. He blushes slightly and starts to bite at a hangnail on his finger.

For a second, we share a moment. The same stare we both shared earlier during the opening ceremonies.

“Bedrooms are through the living room, up the staircase and then down the hall to the right,” Bobby interrupts startling us both. “It will be the last door. It looks like you boys are sharing a room. Effie wants to stay up here and I’m not allowed to sleep anywhere else. Something about sabotage or what have you,” Bobby explains as I shoot a stricken look at Cas. He stands in mid-bite with his finger still at his lip - absolutely frozen.

“Wouldn’t the gamemakers be worried that we might try to kill each other in our sleep?” I spot a heavy statue sitting on an end table near the front door and walk over to it, lifting the object in my hand, “I could bash his skull in and prematurely ruin all the fun, what then?” I look over to Cas with a small smile and he seems momentarily frightened. I put down the statue which seems to calm him somewhat. Definitely not going to pretend to threaten him again if that reaction was anything to go by.

“Effie already called them. After that _touching_ display of solidarity in front of all those cameras, you killing each other outside of the battlefield is the least of their worries.” That’s one positive thing I guess. We made an impact and a statement. But how will that pan out for us in the arena?

“I’m really not comfortable with this,” Cas finally says. His hands are back down at his sides and he looks agitated. Almost angry.

“Well, suck it up, Princess. I’m sure you can live with it. Now go do something, you idjits,” Bobby sighs and rubs the inner corners of his eyes. “These are probably your final days of living. Explore, talk - do _something_. Standing around isn’t going to do any good.” He shoos us away with a flurry of hands and leaves. Cas is wearing a grimace and still standing near the painting. 

“I don’t know about you, but I’m going to change into something more comfortable,” I inform him. He looks at me a little shocked. I quickly add, “I don’t mean it in _that_ way. These jumpsuits are just sweaty as hell.” He grunts in reply which I find a little weird, but I decide to just shrug back.

This is just a great way to spend my last days alive.

I climb the stairs that sit near the large windows. The glittering lights of the city shimmer below while pillars of light shine from the buildings surrounding us. The stairs are poured concrete and a sheet of glass connected to polished metal makes the banister. The bank of windows let in the city’s light that illuminates the long hall. Tall curtains of shimmering grey silk hang, adding an almost ethereal quality to the room.

I walk until I come to a door that is seems separated from the rest. It is solid wood with red painted panels. I turn the knob and it opens up to a very large room. My entire house could easily fit inside. In the middle on the northern wall sits a bed the size of the one Sam and I share at home. A large window makes up the western wall and on the eastern side, it opens up into a walk-in closet and a bathroom. Tucked in a corner off to my right is a small sitting area that contains a couch, small table and television.

I make a beeline for the closet and find that it’s the size of my bedroom back home. There aren’t many clothes in here. Just a few outfits, around six, that sit dangling from a rod. I examine the clothes and find a pair of pajamas. I untie the boots I’m wearing before I unzip my jumpsuit. I bask in the open air as it cools my body and chases away the stifling heat. I take the hem of my underwear and pull the snug elastic away from my body in a fanning motion. Cool air hits my balls and I sigh in contentment. There is nothing like a fresh breeze on your sweaty privates.

I’m too caught up in the ecstasy of cool air to hear the door behind me open and close softly. A gasp hits the air and I freeze. I turn around to find Cas standing there beet red and trembling slightly. My first instinct is to cover my fabric-clad cock, bringing my hands down to create a barrier between his eyes and my giblets.

“What are you doing!?” he asks, scandalized. His eyes are round and wide with his mouth slightly agape.

“What the fuck does it look like I’m doing, Cas?” I huff as I grab the pajamas from the rack. “I told you I was going to goddamn find the bedroom and change my fucking clothes. I literally _just told you_. Like fucking two minutes ago.”

I slip the soft black pants up over my legs. They are slippery and smooth and feel like pure heaven. Then I grab the shirt as I keep scolding him. “You grunted. I definitely remember the grunting. I _remember_ because I thought it was fucking weird!” I say as I violently shove my dark green shirt over my head.

“I-I was lost in my thoughts. I didn’t hear you,” he says quietly to the floor. The guy can’t even look at me. A pang of hurt hits me again for the thousandth time today. This whole sharing-a-bedroom thing was going to turn out badly. I could just feel it in my bones.

“Yeah, well, whatever. Just,” I sigh and point out the door, “Go explore the other two rooms until you find the clothes that were meant for you. This closet came with my clothes but not yours.” Probably has to do with Effie throwing a wrench into their sleeping arrangements.

He gives the floor a swift nod, not even looking up as he leaves. I take the jumpsuit and throw it into a basket that I see standing nearby. That was definitely strange. The whole situation is, but I try not to think about it.

With Cas gone, I trek to the bathroom to see if it’s anything like the one that was on the train. When I get inside, the colors are nearly identical. All sleek metal and grey. They really, _really_ , like grey here. Maybe they only prefer themselves to be the only things obscenely colored. It would wash them out entirely.

I do really miss the browns and natural colors of home. Especially during Christmas time, where the mostly brown color of the indoors would be punctuated with greens from things I found in the forest. I like to find holly berries for the red. For a Christmas tree, I would search for branches that I would then fashion together until they resembled one. Then we would decorate it with random items like old buttons tied on the branches with string, pinecones that Sam threaded together with a needle and whatever else we could find. Ellen would sometimes find us paper that was shipped in with the apothecary supplies and we would cut out shapes to stick on the tree.

All of this grey is just majorly depressing. I take another glance around the bathroom before the urge to relieve myself takes over. I hum a random tune as I hear the stream hit the tepid water.

I’m washing my hands afterwards with pine scented soap when Cas comes back, clothes in tow. I hear a clink of metal that must be him hanging things up in the closet. A second later I hear the sound of a zipper being undone and I scurry to closet door as quietly as possible. I stand near the crack of it door and see Cas standing with his back to me, gloriously clad in just a pair of black boxer-briefs.

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him this naked. The muscles of his back ripple as he searches through the clothing he just hung up. His arms are still the gentle hills of muscle that I used to lavish with attention, but they are bigger now.  I see the swell of his ass and remember how naturally beautiful it was. His family are townies, so they eat semi-decent. It isn’t a lot, but enough to stop him from looking like a pile of skin and bones like the rest of Twelve. His ass had always been round with muscle and at least half the fat in his body. When he would knead dough early on Saturday mornings, his butt would jiggle slightly from each full body press into it.

I watch as he lifts each leg into the black pants and one cheek still jiggles ever so slightly, just like before. I itch to throw open the door and grab a handful of something I’ve missed and long been denied. But I stop myself knowing I am better than that. Looking should be enough, so I settle.

He pulls the dark blue v-neck shirt over his head and his arms flex with the movement. I find it odd that the gamemakers chose pajama tops that match our eyes. Maybe it was just coincidence.

I move away from the crack of the door before he has a chance to turn around and catch me. I run to the bed and dive into its softness. Suddenly, I get an overwhelming urge to be social. It happens sometimes and I decide to roll with it despite my determination to leave him alone and focus on the games. I decide before bothering him, I will try to be civil. We don’t have many choices for people to talk to. It might as well be each other.

“Cas! Get in here!” I call out. I hear a shuffle within the closet and he walks out.

“What?”

“Dude, you _have_ to feel this bed. I’ve never felt anything so soft. I can’t even feel any springs!” I sink into the bed and revel in the feeling. The bed seems both soft and firm, a perfect combination. It’s made of some material I’ve never felt before. I literally feel myself sinking in and being enveloped by the mattress.

And the sheets, oh my god, _the sheets_.

They are the stuff of dreams. A thousand times silkier than the pillows on the train. It feels like liquid cloth. I don’t even slide like I think I would. I grab a handful of the fabric and feel it cascade like water through my fingertips.

Pure heaven.

Cas watches me with trepidation before slowly marching over to the bed. He finds a spot that is the farthest from me and sits down. His hands delve into the fabric like mine and I watch him stare in awe at the fabric.

“It’s so _soft_ ,” he utters quietly. He lifts his legs and lies on his back next to me. He groans when his back makes contact with the bed. “What is this mattress?” he asks in wonder. I smile inwardly as I see his defenses start to break down.

“I don’t know, man. I’ve seen the face of God and it’s this mattress,” I say in a worshipful voice. Cas laughs and turns to face me. We look at one another and smile. Another little moment that we just seem to keep falling into. A part of me hopes it continues.

“I think his angels are these sheets. Soft like wings but it feels more like solidified water.”

“Solidified water is _ice_ , Cas,” I tease.

“You know what I mean, asshole,” he replies playfully. I laugh at his swearing and enjoy this moment. It reminds me of _us_ long ago. It feels good.

“So, how crazy do you think dinner is going to be?” I turn on my side and drag a pillow under my head. Cas looks at me and does the same. “In terms of fanciness, do you think they would serve a la human?”

“More like a la tribute.” We both laugh and I get an image of the blonde from District Two with an apple in his mouth while being served up on a silver platter.

Soon our laughter peters out and we stare at one another seriously. His eyebrows furrow a bit and my mouth irons out into a straight line.

“Who would have thought we’d be here right now?” I ask softly. Cas looks at me with a weird expression I cannot decipher and sighs.

“Somebody who has a cruel sense of humor.”

“If only. At least that would make more sense.” I scoot closer and start fidgeting with the soft blanket. The fabric glides through my hands and ripples with a soft matte shimmer.

“Well, you did volunteer for Sam. You weren’t picked like me.” He looks straight into my eyes and frowns, “You shouldn’t even _be here_.” He picks at the sheet and rubs it between two fingers as well, “You should be at home, sitting by the fire and sharpening your arrows.” I know it’s true but I decide to argue anyways.

“Sam wouldn’t have survived this. At least I might have a chance. Yeah, I’m modest about my skills, but I know what my strengths are and how they will help to win these games. He doesn’t have any of that. Plus,” I pause and think of the right way to say it. This conversation is stepping into territory that would reveal my plan. I wasn’t ready to tell Cas that he was going home and I wasn’t, “If all else fails, if I can’t come home, it won’t be a huge loss. To watch Sam _die_ on television and lose him forever? Man, I don’t think I could handle it,” I admit softly.

“Don’t say that. You’ll win, I know it,” Cas reassures me with a crooked smile even as his eyes darken.

“We’ll see.”

* * *

We talk about nothing, all talks of the games fading away to something less substantial until Effie barges in to tell us dinner is served. She has changed her clothes again but it’s more muted this time around. She is all greys and blacks with metallic tracings of silver. We follow her and walk in to see a dining room table covered entirely in food. The smells of roasted meat, vegetables, gravies, spices and other heavy scents fill the room. Saliva pools in my mouth at the delicious fragrance.

The chairs surrounding the table are filled, with the exception of two spots, by our “team”. The two empty chairs sit across from each other and beckon us to the feast of fatty delights.

I stand there for a moment observing the people at the table. I see Cinna, a woman who is obviously a stylist – probably Portia -- and Bobby. On the outskirts of the dining room, I also see two people dressed entirely in white with a stripe of black along their pant legs. They both have stony faces wiped of all emotion. They stand stock still and stare straight ahead.

But my attention is first focused on the blonde boy. He looks young, no older than sixteen, and his eyes are blue; also entirely lifeless. His face is devoid of emotion until he catches a glimpse of me. His eyes widen and a small frown mars his mouth. But, as quick as it came, it’s gone. The lifeless mask falls back and he stares straight ahead. Something about this boy bothers me. I’ve seen him before. I don’t know where.

I look at the other one and she doesn’t even look at me. Her face hangs like the arms of a puppet whose strings were cut. Also, she is completely and utterly beautiful. A type of beauty not seen, especially here in the Capitol. It’s natural beauty with skin that is a natural soft golden shade of brown. Her hair is inky black and her eyes shine with different shades of gold set in brown. She doesn’t need the frills of makeup or garish decoration to present a picture of utter magnificence to the world. Her attractiveness is just what it is, like the golden rays of the setting sun. But also, it’s made more colorless and muted by the lack of life upon her face.

I don’t understand why I am so transfixed by this one woman. And then, like the parting of bushes before entering a sunny clearing, I understand.

She reminds me of Jo. In any other life, a life without Cas, she would be my “Mary”. But in the end, she is family in a platonic sense and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I think about how her beauty is the same, natural like the shimmering gold of the sun or the soft petals of wild flower. This girl reminds me so violently of Jo that I’m frozen in shock. I look away and stare at my hands as a flood of emotion washes over me. And a realization hits me that I hadn’t come to since leaving Twelve.

I’ll never see Jo again.

And that last peaceful day in the forest seems like a lifetime ago.

Also there is Madge. Sweet, sweet Madge. Another sister whom I’ll never see again. The girl who reminds me so much of my mother.

My chest begins to feel constricted and a sense of dread overwhelms me. Everything blurs around me. On this girls face I see only a flickering ghost of each of them change back and forth. All I can feel is pain for a moment.

And then, I finally understand why I’m shaking in all consuming grief. This silent, almost unassuming girl, represents all the women in my life. Their hair, eye and skin color are in no way the same as the girl in the stiff white clothes, but the quality she possesses….

It’s the same.

I feel myself moving without being really present in the moment. I walk slowly towards this girl and her eyes snap to me. Her hands start to tremble and her chest seems to puff out faster than before. Within thirty seconds, my left arm is curled around her back and my right hand is on the back of her head in a tight hug. I feel tears slip from my eyes and everything I feel translates into this physical expression.

The girl doesn’t say a word but she trembles all over and her breathing punches out faster. The chatter in the room is gone and the only sounds I can hear come muffled from outside. But I don’t pay attention to that and I continue the firm embrace. I use this time to think of Jo, Ellen, Madge and even my mother. I shudder from my tears and silently sob into this poor girl’s shoulder.

“YOU CAN’T HUG _HER,_ SHE’S AN _AVOX_!” I hear Portia scream in fright from behind me. I don’t know what an avox is, and frankly, I don’t fucking care. I keep hugging this girl even though she isn’t moving except to tremble violently.

“Son, that’s not a good idea…” I hear Bobby bark from close by. I turn around and shoot him a glare through my fog of emotion.

“And why the fuck can’t I hug this girl?” I shoot in reply and then I step back out of the embrace and look the girl straight in the eyes, “And why are you trembling so much?” She stares at me and finally opens her mouth. A hideous noise that barely sounds human answers me. It takes me a second to realize why she sounds like she is choking; she has no tongue.

No. Fucking. _Tongue_.

She looks panicked and covers her mouth with her hands. She looks around wildly but doesn’t move anywhere. Everyone is staring at her except Cas who looks at me with an expression that is on the cusp of upset.

“Effie, why the ever loving _fuck_ does the girl have no _tongue_?” I scream. I clench my fists and feel my face heat up. Rage overcomes me as I think of Jo, Ellen or my mother in the same condition. Who would _do this?_

The hideously painted woman stares at me with unflinching probing eyes, “She’s an avox! She is a _traitor_ and pays for her crimes against the Capitol!” Effie replies smugly in a voice so unlike the shrill soprano I’ve become used to. It’s low, dark and natural. She also has a hard smile and turns to Portia, “You agree with me. The punishment fits the crime don’t you think?”

Portia’s eyes dart around the room and don’t hold Effie’s gaze, “W-Why yy-yes, _of course_ ,” she stutters nervously. Effie shoots me another arrogant smile before she picks up a piece of chicken from a nearby plate.

“ _Now,_ sit down, Mr. Winchester. Don’t make me ask twice,” she trills in a falsetto. Everyone is dumbstruck and nobody seems to know how to proceed in the aftermath.

From the corner of my eye I see Bobby guzzle his wine and hastily refill it. Cinna is shooting daggers at Effie and Cas stands staring at me with the girl. He walks over to me and puts his hand on my shoulder.

“There’s nothing we can do,” he whispers softly with a frown. I turn my head away and look to the floor as the last of my tears fall. “It seem the best thing is to go on as we were so this girl doesn’t get in trouble for something she didn’t do. Look Dean, she is _trembling_. She is _afraid_ and,” he lowers his voice so I can only hear him, “if this is the opinion of a Capitol citizen and what they believe is right, then we have no chance of doing anything. I mean, we are the byproducts of what they consider treason, hence the Hunger Games. So let’s eat dinner and we can talk later. _In private._ ”

I understand his reasoning, it’s just hard. I was able to save Sam and I’m going to save Cas but…it just seems unfair that I can’t save this girl who is the living embodiment of all the women I hold dear. But when you are stuck between a rock and a hard place, sometimes you have to admit defeat.

“Fine, but we _are_ talking about this later. Capice?” I whisper just as quietly as I remove myself from her.

“I capice.”

* * *

 

Dinner goes more smoothly after that and the female avox gets to stay. I watch her and notice she is still trembling slightly, but the distress is gone from her face. She looks just as lifeless as before.

During dinner, I watch as Bobby’s face gets redder as he drains glass after glass of wine. His speech begins to slur and his movements become shaky and clumsy. Basically nothing that I’m not familiar with already. Across from me, Cas makes polite conversation with Portia who is a squawking beast of a thing in reality. Gone is the nervous stammer - replaced with an endless string of nonsense. She babbles on even when no one is talking to her. Effie talks as if the event earlier hadn’t even happened. She tells me and Cas about our plans for tomorrow when we will go to the training center.

Evidently, we will need to be there from 10 a.m. till 3 p.m. for the next three days. On the fourth day, we will demonstrate our skills to the gamemakers so that they can score us during our own private sessions. The score rates you from one at the bottom to an impossible twelve at the very top.

Scores can make or break a tribute before they even set foot into the arena. A high score for someone not from the career districts could lead to them being wiped out immediately in the Games. On the other hand, some tributes have underplayed their skills to appear weaker yet in the arena, they’ve turned out to be killing machines.

One example that comes to mind is Johanna Mason of District Seven. People discounted her as a meek and quiet girl with no discernible skills. In the arena, she beat everyone to the cornucopia- where the weapons/supplies are stashed- and picked up a battle axe and a large amount of supplies. She ended up being a master axe-wielder which is no surprise for someone from the lumber district.

She had been one of my favorite tributes with a snarky attitude in the arena. She had played all the women, since it had been a girl’s year, and I remember her ripping her sharp silver axe out of several backs. She is one hundred percent bad ass.

I mull out my strategy over dinner as I shovel down my food. I pick all of the hearty entrees to help me gain weight. I even eat the fatty gristle on all of the meats. I also only drink only minimum amounts of water to conserve space for valuable calories. Everything is delicious, of course, filled with rich flavors, spices and melting butter. And again, every plate is decorated with small bits of food to make the presentation pleasing to the eye. I don’t understand the need to waste food for useless decoration, but I have no say, even though the idiocy of it simmers beneath my skin.

When the end of dinner arrives, I even manage to eat a pie. I’ve only ever had it once in my whole life which was when my mother was still alive.

The pie had been apple. The crust hadn’t been the greatest but the filling was amazing. She had boiled some apples she found in the forest and mixed it with pure honey that she collected from a wild hive. For a boy whose diet had been anything but generous and who had never had sugar in the first place, it was bliss. I knew regular pies didn’t taste that way when I grew up but I didn’t matter. I was still grateful for the small treat she had slaved over to remind her of her own childhood and to give that same gift to us.

 When Cas and I were together, I would watch him make pies in his family bakery for the townspeople. His mother had watched us like a hawk so I couldn’t sample the fillings. But the smell, I could never forget. The smell would wrap around me like a warm edible blanket and tease me with it’s homey smell. It would also remind me of my mother.

The pie I eat now is perfect, kinda like finding a plump turkey in the fall or a first kiss under the stars that makes you both quiver with lust. The crust is buttery and flaky with a dash of sugar for added taste. The filling, oh the filling is _divine_. It’s a mixture of sweet and tart apples with blackberries and raspberries. It’s gooey with the fruit still intact. Flecks of cinnamon are found by my taste buds and I moan inwardly. I wish I had more room but a small slice is all I can handle. I hope they serve pie again tomorrow; preferably straight apple.

When I finish the pie, I sit as a bloated mass in my chair with my hand on my extending belly. The chatter is still going on around me and I’ve barely said two words. I listen to the snippets of conversation trying to find an opening to excuse myself.

Or I could just get up and leave.

Yeah, that sounds good.

I catch Cas’ eye and make a motion with my eyes and a slight tilt of my head to signify my leaving. He dips his head down once in a nod and turns back to Cinna, discussing the interviewing outfits.

I pick myself up and walk away without looking back. I climb each step with a slight groan until I reach the top. I look down into the dining room from the top of the staircase that offers a perfect overhead view. I catch Cinna scribbling into his notebook as he talks animatedly with Cas who seems to be pointing in a flourishing movement within the notebook. Bobby is practically passed out with his eyes closed and a slight hum that somehow reaches me even here. Effie and Portia chatter about who the fuck cares. I turn to leave for the room, each step painful with the jostling of my innards.

I’m glad I don’t have to change clothes because I wouldn’t physically be able to; without throwing up at least. I decide to go into the bathroom and wash my face. I splash the warm water and it feels wonderful on my skin. I rub it around my eyes and look up into the mirror.

I look like a damn raccoon.

The dark eyeliner bleeds into deep circles around my eyes from the water. I pump out some soap onto a soaked wash cloth and gently wash away the makeup. It slowly comes off but it’s really stuck on there. My skin feels raw and itchy. It blooms red when I move onto the next eye.

Once I finish, I look like I’ve been crying and have a sunburn in the area around my eyes. I gently touch the skin and hiss. I take another washcloth and soak it in ice cold water this time. I bring it with me as I stride towards the bed. It sits undisturbed and I climb into the center slowly, careful of my full stomach.

I lie back against the pillow and lay the cold washcloth over my eyes. Whenever I have a burn, or a rash, I always use cold water. It’s abundant back home and it does the trick. Sometimes, if I get really bad burns, I go to Ellen for a special salve she makes. But of course, I’m not in Twelve now.

I decide to relax and mentally transport myself back home. Away from the face of the pretty avox, the guilt and the evils of the Capitol. There; they can’t touch me. I imagine sitting by the fire staring into the flames. Feeling the gentle heat warm my skin. I usually get closer until my skin feels tight from the heat. Sam would tell me about his day and some anecdote about a girl he has a crush on. Each time it was about a girl named Jess. She is a townie with blonde hair and blue eyes. He is so taken with her. At school, during the rare times our classes would intersect, she would always be smiling up at him when he wasn’t looking.

They are so gone on one another. I couldn’t let the Capitol take that away. I’ve seen it so many times before, the breaking of hearts in such a brutal way.

I remember the girl whose cold body had swayed in the breeze at her own hand. Screams of loss and the forever haunted eyes of young spinsters.

Even though Sam and Jess haven’t figured out each other’s feelings yet, The Reaping definitely wasn’t the place to find out. What is the point when you would be separated anyway? And the odds that one of you would lose the other were too high.

Sam has a long life ahead of him despite it being a meager existence in Twelve. It’s still something. He could marry Jess and father a bunch of children; carry on the Winchester name. He could be happy, in spite of the risk of losing his children to the same Games where he lost a brother.

That was the whole crux of my life. Everything was affected by the Games. God, if only they didn’t exist….

“Dean?” I freeze - startled when I realize its Cas standing next to the bed. He must have just finished dinner.

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Why are you sitting in the middle of the bed with a washcloth over your eyes?” I feel the bed dip on the edge near my thighs.

“That eyeliner is a bitch to take off. Damn near rubbed my skin raw to get all of it off. I looked like a raccoon!” I exclaim, moving my hands above me to further my point. Somehow it feels easier to talk to Cas behind this temporary blindfold. I feel less nervous.

I feel the bed next to me vibrate slightly accompanied by a small laugh. “Yeah, I probably look no better.”

“Naw, you pull it off. It makes your eyes more bright and blue. It goes well with your dark hair,” I argue. He really does look great. Sort of sultry which a thousand kinds of attractive.

“How do you know I didn’t try to take it off? You can’t even see me, hidden behind your little washcloth there,” he zings back. I feel my heart start to beat faster and I smile. I love these little moments where it seems like old times. It’s an addiction I’m dangerously toeing the line of.

“It’s a sixth sense. Remember that time you tried to hide in the forest and surprise me?” I chuckle softly and fold my hands across my chest. “You thought you were so clever. You rubbed mud on your skin and everything. I think you even had a few twigs in your hair along with a couple of leaves.” I remember the day was cold with a slight mist. His blue eyes peeked through the brush and his tuft of hair couldn’t be hidden by a few placed leaves.

“And then I lost track of you until I felt your arms encircle my waist. You almost made my heart jump out of my chest,” Cas laughs. I remember feeling his warm back against my chest and his entire body freeze up like an icicle. He had gasped and then laughed.

“It’s what you deserved for trying to scare the master woodsman of the forest! You can’t outsmart the teacher, Cas. Give it up!” We both giggle and I take the washcloth off of my eyes.

“Ouch…” Cas hisses. I didn’t realize I looked that bad. I touch the raw skin gently. The washcloth definitely helped and the skin feels less irritated, but it still stung a bit. I glance at Cas and see he failed to get the eyeliner off judging by the smudges still circling his eyes.  I didn’t even hear him in the bathroom. I must have been too absorbed in my thoughts.

“You weren’t lying,” I chuckle, “But you might want to try the soap next time. Just don’t do what I did. I kinda rubbed a bit _too_ hard,” I warn him before adding cheekily, “And no, that wasn’t a sexual euphemism.” Cas laughs and his shoulders start to shake.

“Even though that did actually happen to you,” he points out while still giggling. I snap my head to him and see that he is blushing slightly at the memory as well. I smile slyly as he starts to stammer, “I-I’m going to go, um, go wash up again.” He quickly leaves me sitting there feeling a bit strange.

Somehow, we are bantering like we used to. It feels like it never stopped and those two years have never even happened. However, the incident on the train _did_ happen. It’s hard to remember he doesn’t feel the same way I do when he keeps having these moments when he acts so familiar and comfortable with me.

It’s actually very frustrating because he said he couldn’t be there for me in the Games, yet, he isn’t exactly pushing me away. I juggle around a few thoughts until Cas comes back.

“Coin for your thoughts?” Cas asks softly. I look up and see he managed to get the eyeliner almost entirely off. There is just enough left behind to still add a little to his beauty.

“Just thinking about the body buffing we had done,” I lie as I rub the smooth skin on my arm.

“Yeah, it’s a bit strange to see totally clear skin where I used to have burn scars,” he admits, looking at his forearm.

“I forgot you always burn yourself!” I chuckle lightly and look up at him. He throws me a small smile.

“Hey, it’s a hazard of the baking life. But I do have to say, I won’t miss them.”

“I miss my scars,” I say as I rub my left palm with my right thumb. I see him watching my movements and he brings his left hand up to stare down at it.

“Yeah, that was the first thing I realized was gone,” he admits softly. I stare at him in shock. I thought it was something he would want to forget; something he would be happy was gone. “I woke up and it felt like my skin was burning slightly. My prep team sort of explained body buffing to me and how it would erase all of my scars. I thought maybe ours would be safe,” he explains before sighing and rubbing the now smooth spot with his right thumb, too, “But it wasn’t. The Capitol took that away from me as well.”

I watch him smile sadly down at his hand and hunch over a little.

“We could always re-do them?” I offer.

He raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think that would be wise considering our current, erm, _situation_ and the fact that we aren’t actually mates anymore.” He laughs darkly, “Not even friends. Just two people who know everything about each other stuck in a shitty situation.”

He has a point. After what happened two years ago, these past few days have been the longest we’ve been around one another. Same with actually speaking to each other. In the past several years I’ve only said hi to him occasionally when I would sell some game to his father.

Now when we speak to each other it seems like nothing ever changed. But that’s what brought us together in the first place, this easiness between us.

I decide to play it off and throw my hands up in mock surrender, “Hey, you call the shots. You’re right, it would be weird. Let’s change the subject.” I nod my head towards the tv, “What do you say we finish the night off by watching some Capitol television, hmm? I’m sure they have other things to watch besides the news or Capitol propaganda.”

“Might as well, unless you feel like sitting here and having a heart to heart?” he teases.

I scrub my face of emotion and say playfully, “Hey, if you want touchy-feely heart to heart crap, then Sammy’s the Winchester you want.”

“He’s pretty good looking. Mind if I take him as a lover if I survive the games?” Jealous rage tears through me and I turn to him with a snarl only to realize he is barely hiding a smile on his mock-serious face.

“You are such an asshole, Cas,” I laugh as I punch him in the arm.

“Yeah yeah, but I wasn’t the only bottom,” he retorts. I don’t realize what he means until a second later. I stare dumbstruck at him - not believing what he just said - and start to laugh harder.

“You fucker!”

“I’m done,” he laughs as he gets up and stands near the edge of the bed. “Let’s go watch tv now.”

I get up and follow him to the couch and we spend the next few hours laughing at television shows I never even _dreamed_ of watching.

We even laugh at the commercials. The products that are pushed upon the Capitol citizens range from small spheres filled with fish that were attached to a needle that you could insert in your hair, to spray-on tattoos and fake fingernails that glow a rainbow of colors or a variety of patterns like mini tv screens. It was all very exciting and extremely strange.

But it’s one of the most fun times I’ve experienced in several years. We both become caught up in a type of drama where everything has twists with scandalous plots. The current plot is about how the main character has found her girlfriend in bed with her brother whom she had thought died from poisoning, but he had faked his death to commit revenge upon their stepfather.

It’s all very intense and keeps us glued to the tv screen. Somehow, Cas has figured out we could order up food and we share what he told me was an apple crumble pie. I almost kiss him in delight when he brings it in during a slow part of the program. The dessert is heavenly and I moan around every bite.

Of course, I don’t miss how Cas watches me with wide eyes; it’s very satisfying.

An hour later, we sit sprawled, clutching our bellies on the soft grey couch. Our feet are propped up on a stuffed dark grey ottoman and our shoulders are pressed firmly together.

I groan, “So good, but so _fulllll.”_ Cas looks at me from the corner of his eye.

“Same.”

We sit in the silence until I feel Cas’ head fall onto my shoulder. Butterflies fly like a swarm throughout my body. It feels wonderful. I’ve missed this - which is the thousandth time I’ve thought that today alone.

 I can’t imagine anything that could ruin this moment between us. But, of course, I am stupid and out of my mind from being over-full of delicious pie, so I ask something that I should have known I wouldn’t like the answer to.

 “Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask softly.

He lifts his head from my shoulder and sits up a little straighter when he turns to me, “What do you mean?”

“You said on the train that we were over and that you wish you could be there for me, but you don’t love me anymore. So why aren’t you being mean to me? Or at least ignoring me?” I sigh and continue, “Basically, what I’m asking is, why are you being so, I don’t know, _friendly_?” I rub the back of my neck and feel my chest tighten in anticipation. I’m not prepared for his answer.

“You’re right, Dean, I should be mad and upset with you. I should be treating you like a pest that I have to deal with. Believe me, I _tried_. But honestly, faster that I could have ever anticipated, you broke a small barrier through my defenses.” He exhales and shakes his head, “I thought of a plan to hate you while we sat in that car on the way to the train station. Then, I thought about what you said in the Justice Building. I wanted to give in, to pick up where we left off because of our, erm, _unique_ circumstances,” Cas looks down and fidgets with his fingers.

“It would be too easy to fall back into what we once were, for however long we have. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that no matter what we do here, the possibility of one us surviving….and having to continue to _live_ with these feelings of complete loss and an unrequited future; I couldn’t do that to us - either of us.” I watch as he starts to cry silently and hold himself.

I feel like an idiot for breaking this gentle atmosphere we had going, but I didn’t know when else I could ask and frankly, it was bugging me on a subconscious level. I couldn’t understand _why_ , but now I know and it makes me feel like an asshole.

I fidget with my hands and look down. “You’re right Cas. It’s just,” I look over to him as a large tear falls down his face, “whatever it is that we have between us, it’s hard to ignore. Even if I were blind and deaf, I couldn’t do it.”

I want to just say fuck everything and take what I want. To charm Cas into changing his mind. But I have too much respect for the both of us to do that. Of course, if he decides, miraculously, to give in, then I won’t say no.

I lift my hand and wipe away the tears that hover on his cheek and smile sadly, “But if that’s what you believe, and it’s something you want, we can just be allies. Or better yet, friends. How does that sound?”

“Thank you, Dean. You are always looking out for me, aren’t you?” he replies softly with a small sniffle.

“Always, just don’t tell the other tributes.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know, you could secretly be a sadist or maybe a masochist that can keep a secret.” I tease with a bump against his shoulder. He smiles back.

“In what universe would I even have time for something like that?”

“Ha ha! So you don’t deny it!” I point at him and smile with excitement.

He beams again and laughs with a roll of his eyes, “Now look who’s the asshole.”

“Whatever,” I mutter with a smile in my eyes.

* * *

 

We eventually go to bed at around 1 a.m., both too tired to comment on the close proximity we will have to endure in the bed. Cas falls asleep within minutes and I follow soon after into a hazy dream of laughing Sam, hunting and my mom baking pie.

When the morning arrives, I am woken up by the sun rays that fall upon the bed. It’s not unpleasant and I enjoy the warmth. I feel Cas close to me, having sidled over to my side while he slept. His backside sits in perfect alignment within the crook of my knees and hips. He breathes lightly and twitches every so often.

I watch him breathe and enjoy this little moment of peace. Today is going to be rough as we begin our training. Not physically, but mentally.

I have to work to cram a ton of knowledge into my brain while appearing to be just the right amount of weak/strong to entice allies. Being clever socially isn’t my strong suit. I’m an honest man and pride myself on that fact. Having to participate in this charade….I don’t know how I feel about that. But it’s a necessary evil that I must endure…

For Cas.

I glance at the clock and realize we have a few hours to kill before training. I decide to fall back asleep, trusting Effie to barge in and wake us up.

But that isn’t what happens.

I’m dreaming something that barely makes sense when a muffled groan startles me awake. I bolt upright and look next to me.

The bed is empty.

I stick my hand to the vacated spot and it feels slightly warm, so Cas didn’t leave too long ago. I peer over at the clock and see that only an hour has passed since I last woke up.

“Dean!!!” I glance over to the bathroom and realize Cas must be in trouble.

All kinds of scenarios run through my head: each ending with Cas broken and bloody on the bathroom floor. I practically fall out of bed in my haste and hurriedly open the bathroom door.

The great thing about the shower in this penthouse is that it is _huge_. It can fit at least eight people inside and streams of water flow from the top like rain and from the sides, if you wish. It has a variety of settings for shampoo, body wash and all other sorts of personal liquids.

The shower’s walls are completely transparent, which in this case, is counterproductive to the friendship pact that I’ve made with Cas.

Through those plain glass shower walls, I can now clearly see that Cas is pleasuring himself within a tightly coiled fist.

Specifically, he is moaning _my name._

And he doesn’t yet realize I’ve barged in. He’s beautiful and I cannot move. I stare dumbstruck and feel myself harden instantly. I palm my hard cock and groan violently. He turns to me, startled, mid-stroke and we stare at each other.

Me, palming my cock.

Him, gripping his shaft near the tip.

Like a man possessed, I walk slowly to the glass door, cloth-covered cock still in my hand. I open the door and small droplets pelt me but I don’t feel them. My entire being is laser-focused on Cas’ face. His eyes are hooded and dark with want. His desire is as palpable as the steam surrounding us.

Cas is a step away from falling over the edge and throwing away all coherent thought. I can see it in his eyes. Rationally, I know this will change everything. We’ve been walking the edge of this natural chemistry we share and trying to keep the uneasy balance, but crossing this line will plunge us over it.

But I can’t just walk away. I’m weak, but I do hate breaking my promises. The last time I did that, we ended up separated and alone. Logic is screaming at me to back away and not give in. But my heart has its own ideas. I strip off my clothes and fling them into a pile next to his discarded clothing sitting close to the open door.

This is the first time we’ve seen each other naked in over two years, and not much has changed. He is as beautiful as ever and I know I’ve filled out a little more from hunting. I caught a glimpse of him yesterday while he was changing, but this is totally different and so much better. He is tense with arousal which displays all the lovely muscles he has grown during our separation. The rivulets of water cascade like small rivers down the valleys and hills of his body. I can see his hip bones standing stark against his skin. They are beautiful and surrounded by lean muscle. His stomach is flat but with a tiny shallow hill of stubborn belly fat. Droplets fleck along his side where his ribs push from beneath his skin.

He is breathtaking.

His muscle is honed from hard work and, from starvation, which edges my arousal with a dose of harsh reality. But it isn’t enough to make me _not_ want him.

I step into the shower and feel the water flow down from my head to my toes. A showerhead larger than a dinner plate sits above us pelting our skin with water. It feels like we are naked in a warm rainstorm in the middle of summer.

The atmosphere is erotic with the glistening of naked skin, our hot gazes and our equally aroused members. Neither of us wants to make the first move but we are both just on the tipping point, I can feel it. I decide to push us over the edge. I’ve been waiting for this for a very long time and hell if I am going to just let it slip through my fingers.

I fall to my knees in one motion and swallow him down to the base. He hisses and ends the verbal declaration with a groan that reverberates throughout the shower stall. He falls against the wall and palms a hand in my soaked hair. His fingers pull and tease the short wet strands. I give him everything I’ve got, grabbing the firm globes of his ass and powerthrust him into my mouth and just a touch down my throat. His other hands snakes into my hair and pulls to ground himself. I lift my eyes during the pleasurable assault to my mouth and see him watching me with hooded eyes. His lips are puckered into a small O and the droplets of water that catch on his eyelashes shine like small diamonds. The noises he makes are delicious and I reward him with a waggle of my tongue to tease and caress him.

“Dean… _Dean_ , aw fuck. You are so good, _so good,”_ he praises in a deep breathy voice. He shudders and moans, “Taking me all the way in; so greedy and so perfect.”

This is the Cas I miss the most. He always knows the right thing to say to make me feel good. I would never admit it, but I love his little praises that might sound degrading coming from anyone else. But I know that coming from Cas, they are the highest compliments. He means every word with the best of intentions.

And I may or may not have a thing for being controlled, but Cas always knew how to steer the reigns and make me feel good.

He holds my face still with his hands he starts to thrust into my mouth. I greedily take it and bask in the glow of it. It’s rough and dirty, but edged with a little bit of love. I can feel the affection in the way he doesn’t try to gag me or choke me. He knows how rough he can take me and when to be gentle instead.

His cock bruises my mouth in the most pleasurable way and I moan around it. I feel him shiver from the vibrations and thrust a bit more before he finally stops.

“Dean, get up here. I want to kiss you,” he breathes out. I slide off with a pop and stand up, wrapping my arms around his upper shoulders. The feel of wet, warm skin sliding together is pure ecstasy. The love, affection and overall aching _want_ is everything I’ve missed.

Cas captures my mouth greedily and slides his tongue inside. Our mouths dance and mate in a way that sends bolts of electricity flying through every vein. He suckles my plump bottom lip and I tug on his in return. Our lips match in the most perfect way, both being naturally gifted with more flesh than others. Soon, I feel his arm encircle my shoulder and a hand grasp my hair. He uses the leverage on my roots to pull my face to the side to expose the column of my neck.

“Fuck, Cas…” I whimper as he bites the long vein in my neck. I grind my cock against his skin as he sucks and bites the taut skin. His teeth are satisfying and his kisses temper the pain just right.

“You like it when I take you rough, don’t you, Dean? Always so willing with the thoughtless grind of your hips and seeking out friction like a good little slut for me,” he growls before taking a bit of skin into his mouth sucking it. I cry out from the sensation and revel in his praise.

“The question wasn’t rhetorical, sweetheart.” He grabs my ass and squeezes while taking my chin in his hand to hold my face in place, “Do you like it when I take you rough, Dean?”

I groan and close my eyes, “ _Yes_.”

“Yes what?” he asks impatiently. I open my eyes and see the lust that drowns out the irises of his eyes into thin slivers of blue.

“I like it when you take me rough,” I answer dutifully. He smiles and grabs me to push me against the wall. My cheek is pressed to the glass and his leering gaze falls heavily on my back. He laughs darkly and kneels on the floor near my exposed ass.

“I think you deserve a reward, for being so _good_.” He takes a fleshy mound and pulls it away to expose my puckered hole. I mewl for more and he pulls the other cheek away as well. I can feel the water flow between my cheeks like a waterfall and slide over the tight ring of muscle. It feels so good that my eyes flutter shut and I bite my lip.

“What do you want me to do, Dean?”

“L-lick me.”

“Where?”

“There.”

“Tell me _where,_ ” he growls from behind me.

“My ass!” I sob with a grit of my teeth. He takes a fleshy cheek and starts to suckle it. “Not _there,_ ” I mewl before, thankfully, his tongue ravages the ring of muscle. I sigh as sparks of pleasure explode like fireworks all over my body. His thick long tongue laps at the puckered skin and dives in with shallow strokes. It’s maddening in the most pleasurable way.

The muscle finally relaxes and I jerk from the surprise. “Mother _fuck-awwww_ …” I moan as his tongue dips inside. His fingers squeeze the meat of my ass cheeks, kneading them with each stroke.

“Cas….” I groan, trying to get his attention. I can’t take this any longer. I need more. But he doesn’t stop to even acknowledge that I’ve even said anything.

“CAS!” I yell in a wrecked voice laced with lust and wanting.

I feel his tongue leave and I open my eyes to see him watching me.

“What do you want, Dean?”

“I-I n-need you to _fuck_ me. I need you, Cas.” I whine as I sway my hips lightly. His eyes widen and a small feral smile graces his face. I close my eyes and shiver as lust consumes me entirely.

“You need me?” he breathes as I feel the head of his cock tease my entrance. He swirls it around the saliva that clings to its exterior walls. It slides smooth and feels so _good_.

I whine helplessly without a thought to how much I must be debasing myself. I forgot it used to be this way with Cas sometimes and how freeing it felt. Even when we switched it felt just as good. Taking control and giving up control are very different but can feel equally as pleasurable.

But the other times, where it was slow slides with whispered “I love you’s”, were just as good. Basically, every time they had been intimate was mind blowing. And right now, all those feelings that had been dormant, and all the urges, were manifesting into this display of rough sex.

Cas smirks before he walks to the shower wall with the control panel and a viscous liquid is dispensed into his palm. It must be lube and I groan at the thought.

 I remember long ago in the beginning of our relationship, we couldn’t afford commercial lube that was sold in town. We definitely couldn’t afford lubed condoms either. I remember telling Jo my problem and she had ended up finding a recipe for it in a book her mother had for salves and massage oils. Turns out that in order to make some lube, all it took was some inexpensive cornstarch boiled in water and left to cool. Just thinking about the first time Cas entered me makes me shiver even more with pure need as I wait for him to prepare me.

He walks back over and kneels again. He kisses a plump cheek and wiggles his tongue against my hole again. I clench my fists at the sensation and suddenly, I feel a slick finger slide in.

Oh, it feels so wonderful. So smooth. I’m utterly relaxed as the second one follows soon after. The slight fullness is heaven and my cries echo in the bathroom. I shake from the pleasurable stabs that pound in time with his fingers. Oh, how I missed them.

I feel Cas nuzzle my ass and give it rewarding kisses. He even bites and leaves behind a few marks that dot my left cheek. His fingers pound faster and he adds a third digit. I whine and spread my legs a bit more.

“So beautiful, spreading yourself like a whore for me. So gorgeous spreading those legs to me; displaying your beautiful flesh,” me murmurs. I smile and thrust my ass out a bit more. “Perfect,” He moans.

His fingers start to scissor my entrance open. I feel his tongue join in - the small tip of it snaking its way inside to lick around. I feel my knees bend and a shake a bit from tensing my muscles in pleasure. Cas decides to slap my ass. The sting feels wonderful and I wiggle for another. He rewards me with an even harder slap that makes me feel dirty in the best way possible.

“I think you’re ready,” I hear him say. Fucking _finally_ is all I can think as I hear him slick up his member. I soon feel the head slide against the puckered flesh before it slowly breaches its way inside.

He enters at a glacial pace. I take every inch, feeling fuller with every bit of flesh that makes it inside. I hear myself whimpering until I give a shout when he is fully inside. My ass fits snug against his hips and the pleasure, oh the _pleasure_ is so much. I can barely handle it. I’d forgotten how amazing it was, how everything just fades away.

Cas then pushes me against the wall and I feel his lips near my ear as his tongue slides out to flick the inner shell. I reach behind me with my right hand and grab a fistful of his hair to pull. He groans loudly and nuzzles my head as I feel him start to move.

His rhythm starts out tortuously slow and the snap of his hips hits hard against me. I can feel his hip bones practically slice my flesh. He pulls out just to the tip and moves it around to tease me.

“Cas!” I whine until he finally sheathes himself deeply back inside with a rough push. I grunt when he bottoms out and suddenly, his pace turns punishing. I’m still grabbing onto his hair and can hear him panting in my ear despite the loud sounds of his hips slapping against me and the water cascading down on us.

The rough strokes feel almost bruising but I love it anyway. The pain feels so good, especially the burn of being stretched open and filled.

I groan and snarl like a wild animal before I whisper, “Is that all you’ve got?” He answers with a small laugh that is edged with a sneer before I feel him bite into my shoulder. I gasp as shallow bits of my flesh tear and I feel the sting of a wound blossom. I cry out from the pain that colors my pleasure just right. I feel him suckle the wound and pound his hips harder. I feel him smile against my shoulder.

Minutes later, he pulls out and spins me around until we are face to face and my back is shoved against the steamy wall. Cas’ eyes are almost entirely black with lust and his smile is tilted toward a snarl. He shoves himself back inside and I grunt from the sweet burn..

He crashes our mouths together and we battle for dominance with teeth and slow licks into each other’s mouths. My whole body shakes in waves from the pounding thrusts and everything feels too good. I can feel the coil of pleasure inside me tightens with every thrust and I can feel his hips falter from feeling the same thing.

He unlatches himself from my mouth and grabs onto my back with one arm and a hand against the back of my head for leverage as he pounds even faster inside me. The coil becomes tighter and tighter inside until it finally bursts in an explosion of bliss as my orgasm sweeps over me. I almost scream from the onslaught of sensation and feel myself milk the cock that beats a painful rhythm inside of me. Cas follows seconds afterwards, nails digging into the hard flesh of my back, pulling on the strands of my hair. He groans loudly and his hips stutter as his own orgasm burns a path inside of him. I feel the jerks of his cock as it coats the inside of me and we stand there panting in the hot water raining from above us.

He is still semi-embracing me and I have my arms around his shoulders gripping painfully. I can feel our hearts beat fast and loud. Both of our bodies shake as the orgasm sinks down to our toes and out of our bodies.

We don’t say anything for several minutes and I’m afraid that if we do, the spell will be broken. I have no idea what will happen or how we are to proceed. I feel like we’ve conquered and overcome a huge wall standing in the way of our happiness. It wasn’t something I planned, or wanted to do, but I’m glad it happened anyway.

I start to kiss his forehead and thread my fingers through his dark hair. I even nuzzle him a bit. I feel him sigh until his body tenses. He freezes and unwraps his arms from around me. I look at him confused as he moves as far away from me as the shower will allow. I tilt my head in confusion with my arms hanging at my sides.

“Cas?”

“We shouldn’t have done that,” he bites out angrily. I recoil from the harshness of the words and I feel myself grimace.

“What do you mean? I specifically remember it was _you,_ practically screaming my name while your jerked yourself off, which brought me in here in the first place!”

“That wasn’t a good idea, Dean! And, it was a moment of weakness.” He runs his fingers through his hair and covers his eyes with his hand. “First of all, I don’t _love you anymore_. Yeah, I’m still sexually attracted to you, but love? Not after what you did. The promise you broke,” he turns tired eyes to me.  “And, most importantly, the high probability of at least one of us dying in the Games _dooms_ whatever we could have together in these last few days. It could emotionally cripple one of us for the rest of our lives. And, that’s only if ONE of us survives because there is no possible way for two tributes, especially from the same District, to both make it out.”

“Why can’t we experience some pleasure before we die, Cas? We’ve lost _two years_ of being together because of the damn Games and now you want to let it separate us in the last moments either of us - probably both of us - will ever have?” I yell back. I know the likelihood of his survival will probably be higher than Cas imagines, due to my plan, but I still wasn’t ready to let him know that.

“It wasn’t the FUCKING GAMES that prevented us from being together Dean, it was _YOU_!” Cas roars before pounding a fist against the nearby glass wall. I know it was my fault, but I thought it was for the best. The Games are tied into it but I can’t change anything now. We are left with the pieces of my selfish decision long ago.

“Fine, that is true, but what about right now, hm? Why can’t we have _this_?” I point out as I gesture to the space between us. “Why can’t we have some semblance of pleasure? Why can’t we have a _taste_ of what we had years ago before the end consumes us?”

“Because if I were to survive, Dean….” he looks down and an expression of guilt wipes the anger from his face, “I couldn’t handle being left without you for the rest of my life. You were my only love, Dean. There has never been anyone before or _after_ you. There never will be,” he confesses.

“So you do love me?” I whisper.

“I shouldn’t, but I do. I mean, I don’t but…fuck, dammit…I do.” He looks at me and I see his lip quiver as tears trace down his cheeks. He breathes in deep before continuing, “Those feelings don’t change anything. They don’t change the past or the present. This love I feel for you, it’s the burden I will carry with me always. It’s not as strong as before. It’s the after effect of what we had, so it’s not exactly a real ‘I love you’, Dean. Not in the way you think. So don’t let this change anything.”

My heart sinks at his words and the glimmer of hope I was holding inside burned out. I shouldn’t have expected anything more. I guess I’m the only one truly still in love.

“If that’s how you feel, then it won’t happen again. This…this will have been our last hurrah. We never got the chance to have that before and now we finally have. We can both die with that knowledge, or one of us can survive with it.”

“That sounds acceptable.”

“And no more moaning my name when you’re touching yourself. You can imagine me, I’m powerless to stop you, but just don’t make it obvious to me, alright? It gives me the wrong idea.”

“Fair enough.”

I sigh and lift myself from the wall, “Now, let’s just do our training for the next few days and not try to turn into enemies. Alright?” I offer.

“Alright.”

I stay behind for a minute or two to clean the cum that dribbles from my ass. I decide to wash my hair and body as well in preparation for training. When I’m finished and standing with a towel wrapped around my waist, I see that Cas is already dressed in our training uniforms. They are red, grey and black things made of stretchy material. They feel soft and hug all the lines and curves of our bodies.

I dress quickly and turn to one of the three full-length mirrors that hang at the back of the room. I stare at my reflection and assess myself for a few moments. I mentally draw up my plans, think over strategies and consider what I know about survival before I leave for breakfast. I mull it over in my mind over my meal and study each facet of information - deciding where the holes are in my knowledge and where I excel - so that I can use these training days to their full benefit.

With a full belly and the motivation to learn, Cas and I leave for the training center.


	5. Chapter 5

The moment I can hear the door close behind us, my heart picks up pace. I can feel the beats in my fingertips. How can anyone not hear it?

 It’s deafening.

I don’t understand how walking across the threshold elicits this sort of response. One second I’m calm and collected. Almost looking forward to the training but the moment I walk through that door, all the blood rushes down to my feet. I feel light headed and feel my hands begin to shake slightly. The tattoo of my heart thumps wave after wave of blood in my temple. I begin to bite the inside of my mouth and tear at the tender flesh. Fresh blood drips onto my tongue and the coppery tastes distracts me - but only for a second. Then I’m back to the all-consuming dread that washes over me.

Cas watches me with concern and I can see his hand almost try to reach out for mine before it snaps back into place. Pity, I could have used the reassurance. I try to think calm thoughts and eventually my heart rate slows, but only barely.

This morning we are led by Effie, who is yawning constantly behind a gloved hand. She wears a small cap with a veil of lace to cover her face. Her lips are a shocking red along with the rest of her outfit. It’s comprised of two different shades of red with black edging. Her black heels lift her to a height of five feet and eight inches. Still small compared to us.

She is quiet and her eyes are heavy with exhaustion. It’s barely mid-morning, but it practically feels like the afternoon for me. Cas is as alert as I am and keeps shooting me concerned looks. I’m still nervous and I feel my palms practically licked with sweat. I rub the moisture onto my pants and dig my nails into my palms. Underneath the current of nervousness, there is still the sadness from earlier.

I replay the fight in my mind and I can’t help but think Cas is lying. Yes, he loves me, that is a fact, but it _has_ to run deeper. You can’t just squash down what we had. A love like ours…..maybe in a lifetime he could get over it. I know that I would have to live over a hundred lifetimes to get over Cas.

Probably a thousand.

I wonder how things would be if we’d have stayed together and then ended up in our current situation. Would things be better? Or possibly, a whole lot worse? I’d like to think it could be better in that we could use whatever we would have had between us to carry us through. The full weight of the Games hasn’t hit me yet. I don’t think it will until today.

That’s probably why I’m so nervous. I’ll be faced with the reality and I’ll have to endure it. I sigh and wipe my hands against my pants again as fresh sweat leaks from my palms.

The elevator today is flanked by two new avoxes. I think of the girl yesterday and I realize Cas and I never talked about it. Maybe I can sneak in a conversation before dinner when training is over. Maybe he has some type of knowledge about them. The fear I saw in her face and her strangled half sounds are certainly unforgettable.

I observe the new avoxes as we walk towards the elevators. The girl to the right is extremely pale with deep orange hair and a heavy dusting of freckles. Beyond these features, she is plain and unremarkable. The one on the left is a boy who is deeply tan with dark blonde hair and with deep, almost black, eyes. He is the opposite of plain. Something about him reminds me of the sea; he probably is a citizen of District Four.

The boy presses a button and opens the glass tube of the elevator. Effie carefully walks inside with her debilitating footwear. Somehow she’s able to walk in those tall heels, but she still sways as if on an edge with every step. Daintily, Effie slides her card and presses the button for the fourth floor. She sighs with weariness and rubs the inner corners of her eyes. I feel the tube descend slowly and I watch the changing scenery through the glass. It’s just the buildings close to the tower. Nothing particularly exciting.

With a gentle chime, the doors re-open and we are presented with the fourth floor. The walls are grey like our penthouse at the top and the carpet is a deep red. Light falls from a few scattered sconces and the white light of the morning sun shines through the tall windows. The only decoration between us and the sky bridge down the hall are tall vases filled with large exotic plants. I watch Effie as she straightens her back, pastes on a brilliant smile, and leads us forward slowly until we enter the mouth of the bridge.

When we cross over, I can see that the sky bridge goes over the street, which is strangely empty and inactive except for a truck or two. I don’t see anyone walking along the sidewalks except for service workers dressed in charcoal grey jumpsuits. The only color on them is their hair or skin tone which range from natural to the hideous colors the Capitol citizens seem to choose.

We reach the end of the sky bridge which opens up into another building. The room is large but strangely empty. The only things in the room are a pair of steel double doors, a single wooden door down a small hallway to the left and a large glass box containing a colorful young man. He is wearing a golden yellow suit jacket covered in hundreds of rhinestones. Everything else matches the color or compliments it in some fashion. I even see rhinestones stuck onto the outer corners of his eyes along with false lashes that contain a tiny yellow feather. I notice his nails are gold as well and they shimmer and catch the natural light. The box he sits in has a few holes punched into it and beneath it is a small opening. I assume it’s his way to communicate and exchange things.

“Aw! You must be the District Twelve tributes!” he smiles brightly. I give him a cold expression, but his smile doesn’t falter. “Effie Trinket, why, don’t you look absolutely _marvelous_ this morning?” he says, voice oozing like sticky honey. I hear myself snort but she drinks it up.

“You are too kind, Graysen! I look hideous, absolutely hideous! Haven’t been up this early since, well, I don’t know!” she giggles in a higher octave. Cas inches closer to me and shoots me a confused look.

“Not true! You look utterly magnificent. Oh my! The _time_! I feel like a dockworker being up this early. Completely unnatural if you ask me, simply unnatural!” he says in what I believe is true disgust.

 I don’t know how these people even exist. They can’t be real. Getting up any later than nine a.m. is practically a crime in Twelve.

I notice Cas is just as perplexed. Back home, he is always up by four a.m. daily to make the dough for the day’s goods and to make sure it proofs effectively before baking. The latest he ever sleeps is seven a.m. on Sundays.

We both glare at the young man who can’t be any older than twenty-three. Graysen looks over to us and his face falls slightly at our expressions, but just momentarily. He snaps back to Effie, “I think your tributes are a little impatient to get started!” He giggles in a high falsetto. “Just for security’s sake, I will need to see your I.D., Effie.”

“But you know me!” She smiles widely, her unnaturally-stained red lips crinkling. I can tell by her clenched hands that her patience is running thin.

“You know how it is, my dear.” I watch his eyes dart down to her shaking white knuckles, “I’ll make it quick and painless!” He reassures her. Effie smiles again and her hand relaxes before digging into a hidden pocket for a shiny card that shows her face moving into a polite grin. I look at the card for several seconds and am shocked by her photo. It’s almost as if her existence is embedded into the card with the way her face moves in the picture. It doesn’t start over from a neutral face to a constant smile back and forth. It starts out that way but its sticks into the type of almost motionless smile someone would give you if they were listening to a very long enjoyable story.

In Twelve, our I.Ds are just plain photos laminated on a piece of hard paper. I think its called cardstock. It’s stamped by the Justice Building and signed by the Mayor once every four years. They are rarely used until you become an adult.

I watch intently as Graysen taps on the table in front of him. There seems to be a screen embedded in the glass that he is using to type. Well, it doesn’t necessarily look embedded but more _part of_ the glass than anything else. I wonder how they do that and I watch curiously, but still with a frown to stand my ground. After barely two clicks, a small hovering screen from a small triangle projection unit-like thing, just like on the train, waves in front of his face. I can see a backwards image of information along with both Cas’ and my face. They are the photos on our I.D. cards. The photos are old, taken when both of us were only sixteen. The next time we get new I.D. card will be on our nineteenth birthdays, when we become legal adults. I’ll have mind at the end of January, and Cas by the middle of April. I watch Graysen’s eyes dart back and forth to scan the information.

He never stops smiling which I find strange. And, if anything, a bit false. I seem to be getting that impression from all of the Capitol citizens, actually.

“Perfect! You are all set to go!” he chirps as he presses the table once more before the double doors open slowly with a mechanical whir.

When I turn towards the entrance and walk into the large training room, what I’m not prepared for is the large room that bustles with activity like The Hob. I notice a long rectangular opening along the top filled with two rows of chairs. Brightly-dressed people in a variety of skin tones, all of them natural, mill about around a table filled with enough food to feed a hundred people easy. They must be the gamemakers and I decide to ignore them. They will only make me nervous.

Instead, I focus my attention to everything happening on the floor around us. Everywhere young men are in the middle of fighting or watching the action. In front of us, I see a tribute sparring with a trainer. He is faltering and not very good. He seems weak in his movements which I quickly realize must be a result of a lifetime of malnutrition and constant hunger.

I look around and notice something I hadn’t realized at the opening ceremonies. Most of the tributes look gaunt and starved. Their eyes are lifeless and pale. Their skin is sallow and their hair dry like a bone picked to pieces by dogs. Most of them are short and look on the cusp of being sick with a life altering illness. It’s sad and I feel pity for them. The only healthy bodies in here that I see are the Career tributes, one or two from the other districts, and Cas and I. But none of the other tributes come close to the bodies of those from the Seam; bodies ravaged so long and hard by hunger that death is always waiting on your doorstep.

I’m very fortunate in that my body is forged with food caught in the forest with my own muscle power and the carrying of much dead game for over five miles most days of the week. The meat from healthy animals and the nutrients from their bodies gives me a lean healthy look with just a dash of muscle. I do have some stubborn belly and chest fat, but I still look like a smaller and leaner version of a Career. It’s an advantage that I’ll gladly take.

Cas, on the other hand, is more bulky than I am, but mainly in his arms and shoulders. Well, also his legs and the butt muscle. I can’t remember the name for that muscle group. Gluteo? Glutus? Wait, glutes. That’s the word. He has large glutes from lifting with his legs.

But, like everyone back home, he’s known hungry days. Luckily, the majority of the time he is fed moderately-well due to what passes for semi-wealth in Twelve. But basically, he eats enough to keep his body from cannibalizing most of the muscle honed by tossing heavy loads of flour and grain. If he ate the proper amount of calories for his physical exertion level, I would imagine he would be able to give the Careers a run for their money.

I spot the Career tributes from One, Two, and Three easy enough. They sit grouped together and watching each other’s skill. I find it strange that Three is considered a Career district when they were one of the first to declare rebellion in the war that started these games. But technology is so vitally important to the Capitol that maybe they didn’t have much choice in the matter when it came to District lap dogs, even though that is the primary position of District One. There are some years where the tributes of Three are the furthest from looking like your typical Career tributes. The ones that were chosen and didn’t volunteer, were usually lean and wiry which kept them from being in the Career packs during those specific years. This year that is not the case.

I see that they are all tall and muscular.  Their bodies are hard lumps of muscle that shape into small hills through the black of their uniforms. At first glance it’s quite attractive, but the reality of the situation dampens anything attraction I might feel. A blonde, I think his name is Cato, is viciously sparring with knives closest to us. He holds two decent-sized blades and gets in a couple of a slashes against the armor of his training partner, an older gentleman in his late thirties. He smiles gleefully and a dark flash of bloodlust clouds his eyes.

My heart begins to hammer away and my palms are slicked from nervousness again.

“What should we do first, Dean?” Cas asks next to me. I’d forgotten he was there and I turn to him with a reluctant smile. His smiling face sends a jolt of want through me which is followed closely by pain. I realize I’ve been so pre-occupied with training that I’ve almost forgotten what happened this morning. Now, it’s thrust back to the forefront of my mind and mixed with the fear of today’s session. It’s a cocktail of emotions that makes me feel a little sick.

I try to punch down all of my feelings as I scan the room and notice the survival booths are empty. Everyone seems preoccupied with the fighting stations. I feel a little too nervous to learn much fighting right now and I’d probably be distracted by what’s going on inside my own head which, in turn, could get me injured. Survival it is, then.

“Let’s go identify poisonous plants!” I say with false enthusiasm and a pained smile. Cas doesn’t seem to notice as he grabs my forearm and pulls me along with him to the station farthest down the open hall.

It’s an informative half hour and the expert teaches us all the various poisonous berries. I know most, if not all, of these species but Cas doesn’t. Luckily, Mary taught me at a young age to spot the killer fruits. It was important when I was a small child to identify these plants.  Coming across anything berry-like with a hungry stomach was disaster waiting to happen.

The time ticks by slowly as the expert looks at me with respect as I correctly guess each plant and its corresponding flower and/or berry. She doesn’t look like a Capitol citizen with her clean natural face and muted clothes. I want to ask her where she is from, but it would be useless information. I try to guess, but I’m sure I’ll always come up wrong.

We reluctantly leave the station to learn knot tying. The man there is practically giddy to teach us all the different ways to tie knots. I have the distinct impression that he doesn’t end up working with many tributes, but I’m glad to make him happy. Like the woman running the toxic plant booth, he seems to be from a different district, as well. He looks a little bit like Thresh from Eleven with his deep brown skin and almost black eyes, but older and less bulky. He also has a very low voice that vibrates with a deep resonance. It’s soothing to listen to.

During the middle of knot training, the guy brings over the trainer from traps to see our knot work. He is thoroughly impressed and teaches us knots that can be used in traps to catch passing tributes. That disturbs me quite a bit and from the grimace on Cas’ face, it would be safe to say he agrees. The trap works in that the person would somehow catch their foot within the loop and be pulled upwards into a free-hanging dangle. The knot is tied in such a way where it won’t cut off circulation but allow for maximum entrapment.

I notice Cas is adept at tying knots with his nimble fingers and I grimace at my untidy knotwork even though my fingers are just a bit larger than Cas’. Regardless, I’m skilled with traps thanks to lessons from Jo a few years ago. She taught me how to make snares to catch passing rabbits. It yields more animals with little effort which meant more food and, more importantly, more money. 

Now I can use those skills to further myself, and Cas, in the Games. That experience alone is priceless.

The time flies by as we bounce from station to station. I realize with a bit of relief, that the distraction of learning survival skills has pushed all nervousness from my mind, along with the grief from earlier this morning. It will most likely reappear but for now, I can enjoy this easy peace.

We learn to make lean-tos, and have successfully erected them, when lunch is announced. We are ordered to drop everything and follow a woman with deep brown skin dressed head-to-toe in orange to a separate room. The room is large and sterile, with very plain furnishings and lacking any decoration. Everything is either white or greys. The only other color present come from the food that sits on carts all along the north wall.

Cas and I look at each other with matching smiles at the sight of all the food. Something I’ve come to accept over the past two days is the return of hunger that will come when I enter that arena. When that happens, this abundance of food will be a distant memory. A memory that will most likely drive me slightly mad with want. So I stand there and savor the image and take in everything. I observe all the carts groaning with the weight of anything you could possibly want.

Each cart is almost the size of a regular table. And it’s obvious that each one is a designated to a specific food group. They range from meats, to grains, fruits, vegetables, beverages and even desserts.

Cas and I make a beeline for the bread cart and load up on different types. Cas points out that the breads offered are the official loaves from each district. I could care less as I grab a fancy refined loaf of white bread and a honey grain roll topped with raisins and oats. Cas grabs a small loaf covered with bits of seaweed and some of the drop biscuits of Twelve. All of the bread is still warm and soft to the touch. I shiver with hunger and feel my mouth fill with saliva.

With our grains selected, we slice off pieces of turkey and steaming honeyed pork dripping in a golden brown sticky sauce. Once the pork is on my plate, I stick a finger into the sauce for a taste and groan quietly at the tangy sweetness. Then I decide to ladle some extra sauce onto my pork.

After our first helping, we both decide to make a second trip for dessert and fruit. We turn around to survey the room and see everyone has divided themselves up. In our haste for food, we didn’t even realize the separation. We had just grabbed our food and sat at the first empty table we came across. I notice some sit in groups, like the Careers who are leering at everyone else. Some sit with their tribute partner. Others sit alone or with other single tributes from the other districts.

At the fruit cart, all the fruit is pleasantly arranged and filled with other fruit which I find strange. A great example is the watermelon which is carved out but filled with cantaloupe, not its own fruit. In spite of the strange set up, we grab a few of the things I’ve always wanted to try but could never afford like grapes, kiwi and oranges. Cas loads up on watermelon, grapes and green melon.

We don’t pile our plates too high with fruit and we make sure to leave a healthy amount of room for sweets. The dessert cart is stacked high with cupcakes, tarts, pies, cakes and other baked goods.

“Cas, you’re the bakery expert, what shall I choose?” I ask in a snooty voice akin to the Capitol accent.

He answers back in an almost identical accent of his own, “Why, I would recommend the chocolate lava cake and the apple fritter my good sir.”

“Ah, _excellent choice,_ my good man. I shall partake of your recommendations,” I reply with a tiny chuckle.

I actually follow his advice and load up with those two items along with a slice of delicately decorated vanilla cake and a small slice of blackberry pie. Cas picks up the exact same desserts.

“Back to the table, sir?” He asks.

“Back to the table!” I shout with an onward motion of my fork.

In between bites, we discuss which booths we plan to check out next. Cas wants to see the camouflage booth since his skills at cake decorating might come in handy. I scoff at the idea and reply with a ‘maybe’. Overall, we decide to play it by ear and go where the wind takes us. It might not even be a bad idea to go over what we’ve learned so far, which Cas agrees with. So tomorrow, they will focus on different stations to get more exposure to more survival techniques. After talking all of that out, we both stay silent and dig happily into our respective desserts.

Lunch ends about twenty minutes after we’ve finished the last of our food. We sit groaning and clutching our full bellies. Cas’ face looks tired and I can feel my eyes dropping as well.

“Cas, I think filling up that much was a bad idea.”

“Why?”

“I kinda had an idea that we should fight a little today so that when Bobby and Effie ask us what we did, we don’t sound like we aren’t really trying.”

Cas turns to me with a grimace and large wide eyes that looks too cute to be attached to his face, “But, but _cake,_ ” he whispers with a small pained smile.

“I know, it looked too damn tempting. Well, we can always lie and then stick strictly to fighting tomorrow. What do you say?”

“Good plan. Ugh, Dean, I feel like I’m _dying_ ,” he groans painfully, “but it feels _so good_.”

“If I pushed you to the floor right now, what is the likelihood you would lie there like a turtle stuck on its back?”

“100% guaranteed,” Cas grunts.

The rest of the day passes quickly and we revisit all of the booths from this morning along with a couple of new ones. We push through and try to memorize one survival technique after the other all the while feeling stuffed to exhaustion from lunch. We trudge through, both mentally and physically, until the time comes around for us to leave. Effie is the one to fetch us and she looks a lot brighter than this morning and dressed in an entirely new outfit of olive green and silver.

We go back the same way we came: past an absent Graysen in his clear box and across the street that we can see is now bustling with a rainbow of people from our viewpoint on the sky bridge. The same avoxes stand near the elevator on our floor but they look more dull and sad than they did earlier. They probably have been standing there since we left this morning. To be stuck in your own head that long in such a boring place….I feel nothing but sympathy for them. I offer both of them a smile but they just tighten their lips and stand up straighter in response.

When we arrive at the door to our penthouse apartment, and it finally opens, my mind feels like a sponge filled to bursting with survival information. I can see by the tired expression on Cas’ face that he feels the same. It’s strange, we aren’t tired physically, but we are exhausted mentally. Well, we are a little physically weighed down from all the food.

But these aches and pains are evidence that today was a success. Despite my vast knowledge concerning survival skills, even I gleaned a wealth of new tips and techniques from the survival booths. Cas, on the other hand, is drowning in it. I can see it in his slumped shoulders and in the finger he’s using to massage his temple continuously. Maybe some of his useless baking knowledge is being replaced with this more helpful information. One can only hope.

 “Dean, how do you know so much about survival? How can you fit all of this inside your head?” he asks while still massaging his temples.

“Years of practice, Cas, years of practice. But even I didn’t know everything - like how to harvest water in a desert climate. Who would have known that all you needed was a tarp, some rocks, a hole and a can? It’s so simple that it’s _genius_.” Cas smiles at me, his eyes tired.

“Yeah, that was pretty neat,” he admits softly.

We eventually drag ourselves over to the living room area and flop down on the couches. We are sprawled on each one and I get the impression that - from the looks on our faces and the noises we’re making - we resemble dying animals. The only thing really holding my attention is the skyline that shows through the tall one story windows in front of us. The sun glints off of the metal exterior of the nearby buildings and the clouds are scattered beautifully in the sky. I notice Cas is gazing off in an unfocused way.

“So how was training day, idjits?” I hear Bobby ask behind me. I jump, startled, and blow out a large breath.

“Fuck, Bobby! Warn a guy!” I yell before relaxing back into the couch. Cas looks equally as surprised if his fast-paced breaths are anything to go by.

“You think some _tribute_ is going to announce their damn presence before slitting your goddamn throat? Kid, you are even dumber than I thought.” Bobby looks over to Cas who is barely recovering, “Same with you, sparkle pants.”

“What do you want, Bobby? I wasn’t expecting to see you until dinner.”

“Seeing as I have no other place to go besides talking to Effie or some other Capitol people, where else would I be? It’s not like I can just roam the city.”

“But you’re a victor, of the Quarter Quell no less. Aren’t you kinda like a celebrity?”

“Maybe when I was younger, but the novelty wears off. Plus, nobody wants to talk to an old drunk anymore.” Bobby looks almost sad with a haunted look in his eyes. I get the feeling under my skin that something bad happened to him, besides the Games, to warrant such an empty stare. I want to ask but somehow now doesn’t seem the right time. Maybe that’s why he drinks - a combination of both the Games and whatever followed after. Like John did over Mary.

“But you’re only forty-two,” Cas points out quietly. He does have a point. Bobby certainly doesn’t look old. In some ways he appears to be in his mid-thirties but sometimes he looks about fifty, too. Almost as if the drink has sapped some of his youth along with the passing of time itself. That reminds me of John, too.

When I was growing up, I remember that my father was a handsome man. Muscled shoulders from working the mine, jet black hair, chiseled jaw and smooth, clean-shaven face. It was no wonder my mother had fallen in love with him, and it’s definitely why Sam and I are so genetically gifted as well. But when she died, the youth in him drained away like river sand between spread fingers. It happened fast. One year he was full of life with a constant smile and the next, he was a shadow of a man. Lines snaked their way across his face and settled there permanently. Half-moon bags etched themselves beneath his eyes. His hair became dry and lackluster. A beard sprouted like the thorny vines of a blackberry bush and crawled across his face, soon to become continuously muddied by coal dust and traces of vodka.

I’ve never seen that happy man from my childhood memories again. It’s sad to think that I didn’t just lose a mother, and a future sibling, but I lost that version of my father, too.

“Something on your mind, boy?” I shake my head and scatter the melancholy thoughts.

“N-nothing. Just thinking of home.”

“Yeah, I did the same thing when I was in your shoes. Couldn’t think of anyone but my wife and my mother...” Bobby freezes, his eyes bugged wide. I lift an eyebrow in suspicion and his expression turns to simmering displeasure.

Despite seeing the transformation come over Bobby, I press with a question that I know will bother me if it goes answered, “You were married before you came to the Games?”

He sighs and his face smooths into something more neutral. Almost as if he’s preparing himself for something. “I was eighteen, you know. It was legally binding and all. Broke the bread, had a small wedding dinner, and she wore her mother’s white dress.” The haunted look creeps back into his eyes again to replace the blank face of before. He sighs again before continuing, “That’s all I’m gonna say on the subject. Don’t ask me anything more.”

Cas and I look to each other and I can see the burning curiosity in his eyes. I shake my head to tell him no, but he asks anyway.

“What happened to her? How come I’ve never seen her in my family’s shop?” Cas asks and I realize that I’m wondering the same thing. In all the years I’ve seen Bobby Singer walking around Twelve, I’ve never seen him with anyone. Neither family nor a partner. He was always alone.

“BOY, THAT AIN’T NONE OF YOUR DAMN BUSINESS! AND DON’T YOU DARE ASK ME ANYTHING MORE!” Bobby shouts before leaving. We watch him walk away as he pulls out the flask he’s had stashed in his jacket pocket. He gulps a long swallow as he climbs the stairs to the bedrooms.

“Shit,” I mutter.

“I wonder what happened,” Cas says softly. He rubs his chin and gazes out the window from the couch.

“She must’ve died. My dad has the same look in his eye on the rare occasions when he talks about Mary. Glassy, lifeless and empty. Might explain the drinking.”

“Most likely, but how? If you’re a victor, you’re pretty much taken care of. She couldn’t have starved to death-”

“Death in childbirth? A disease? Cas, anything can happen. Hell, my mom should never have been…” but I can’t complete the sentence. The pain of it is too much to be able to say aloud.

Cas looks at me with a sad tilt of his head. “I know. Life isn’t always safe. Even if the Games didn’t exist, kids could still die from a myriad of causes.”

“Yeah… you’re right.” I sigh and sit upright and hang my head in between my legs. I hear a small grunt as Cas moves over to my couch. He sits and starts slowly rubbing my back in comfort.

“Thanks, Cas.”

“You’d do the same for me.”

I really would.

* * *

 

Dinner isn’t for another few hours so we both go upstairs to hang out in our bedroom. The bed is newly made and carpet freshly cleaned. There are even new towels in the bathroom. All fluffy, grey and crisp.

“Tv?” I ask with a small smile. Cas follows me over to the tv area and flops down on the soft couch. It’s dark grey linen with a design of charcoal rivets on the sides.

“Do you even have to ask?” He retorts saucily before grabbing a light grey pillow and hugging it to his chest.

“I like the way you think, Milton.” I wink and he blushes slightly. I walk around and search for the remote while he shoots me a semi-disgusted look.

“Bleck! That name sounds so _awful_. Reminds me of my father.”

“How is the old man, anyway?” I tumble onto the couch beside him. I’ve always liked his father. He is quiet and unassuming. The last time I saw him his nearly black hair was shot through with threads of grey and he had on a tired smile. He looked like a much older version of Cas but his eyes had heavier lids. Plus, his voice was a lot higher but still edged with a deep timbre like Cas’. The man rarely speaks. When I come to sell him my squirrels he says maybe five words at best.

“Not too bad, but the past month he’s been even quieter. I think it’s because of my mother. The shop’s sales have declined a bit and she blames him.” Cas sighs heavily and fidgets with the pillow. “There isn’t much you can do when the customers just don’t show up. It’s not like we’ve been putting out bad product or burning bread. People just don’t have the money to buy fancy baked goods.”

“Cas…does your mother still hurt your father?” I ask tentatively. I remember a day, years ago, when Cas and I walked into his home. Sounds of a woman bellowing rang throughout the house and could be heard even outside the walls. His father Jimmy was huddling in the corner as his mother Amelia hit him with a rolling pin over and over again. I snatched the rolling pin from her grasp and knocked her out with it in one smack to the ground. His father’s face was swollen and bloody. It’s something I could never forget.

Most people would be shocked by my actions, but I felt I was justified. In my book, abuse is abuse. It doesn’t discriminate and isn’t gender specific. Jimmy was too weak to fight back and he needed someone strong to help him out of the situation. Simply holding her away wouldn’t have done much good and someone else could have ended up in harm’s way, as well. I had no tolerance for abuse, considering my dance with it a few times at home with John, and of course, my monthly tangle with it lately for Sammy’s sake.

Sadly, it was something I had to do many times at Cas’ house over the course of our relationship, yet she never stopped. I had hoped with Cas being eighteen, and her advancing age, that she would have quit her abusive ways.

“Sometimes, but not like before. She rarely physically hurts him because I get in the middle of it now. I’ve found it…. _easier_ to just restrain her to a chair with some rope. She still yells though. When it gets too graphic….I stuff some rags into her mouth, which works out just fine.”

An image of her face blood red with rage and wrinkled brows pops into my mind. Voice muffled and arms tangled within five feet of braided rope. Pleasure of a revengeful nature coils in my stomach but I feel no remorse. The bitch deserves that, probably more. No matter who you are, it’s never ok to hurt your partner. Including your own son, I think bitterly.

“So she verbally abuses him now?”

“Yeah, that’s why I think he got quieter. She hits him where it hurts emotionally.” He turns to me with a sad look and says, “I just hope that it doesn’t get worse with me gone. Stress always makes it worse.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. She gives him the Ol’ John Winchester special,” I say with as much sarcasm as I can muster.

“Pretty much.” Cas lets out a deep breath and lays his head on the pillow clutched in his arms.

“Cas,” I scoot closer and strengthen my voice, “if you win, and you go back home, well, to the Victor’s Village, take your dad with you, along with your brothers. Don’t let them near that psycho woman. One day, they all might end up dead because of her. You watch.”

“You’re right, Dean. And it’s what I planned on doing if I somehow survive. I won’t give her the chance to hit my father anymore, or any of my brothers.”

I think of his three brothers who I never really got to know. They were younger and kept to themselves when I was around. I try to imagine what their life will be like with Cas gone. Gabriel is the same age as Sam and I can see his whiskey-colored eyes scrunched in pain with dribbles of blood leaking between his thin lips to dry on his sun-kissed skin. And then little Michael, barely twelve: cowering in the corner, blue eyes wide and spilling tears, dark hair mussed from being dragged around by the roots, scuffs and bruises littering his pale skin. And Inias, barely fourteen with the same dark hair as Jimmy, Cas and Michael but whose blue eyes include bursts of golden color like the sun. The sun of his eyes dimmed by the oncoming dark of the bruises littering his body.

My plan to send Cas home from the Games as the victor is not just for his own safety anymore. Now I know doing that will give the rest of his family salvation. In the end, I’ll be able to save not just Sam and Cas, but an entire family. I can feel tears start to prick my eyes and I try to reign in my emotions. Cas is too lost in his own head to pay any attention to me so I sit there for a few minutes until he comes back.

“It’s a good plan right?” he asks tentatively.

I nod my head and quirk my lips into a small smile. “Definitely.”

“So what about John? Did you make any arrangements for Sam?”

“I got Ellen watching John. Making sure he doesn’t try anything with him. Now that his number one punching bag is gone, I just hope Sam doesn’t get caught in the middle.”

“Dean, what do you mean by ‘number one punching bag’?” Cas looks upset as he closes his eyes and shakes his head, “I thought he only abused you a few times before we met? A few months after Mary?”

I scratch the back of my head and I realize I’ve gotten a bit too careless. Fuck, I didn’t want Cas to know this. I’d hidden it so well, from almost everyone. Beyond Sam, the only other people that knew were Ellen and Jo. Not even Madge knew. It’s now or never and I’ve already jumped off the deep end. Might as well sink further.

“About a year and a half ago, something triggered John. I still don’t know what it was or what happened, but one night….he changed.”

_The blankets are well worn and soft as they drape over my legs. Sam sits next to me mending the cuffs of his reaping shirt. I managed to acquire some correctly colored thread with a trade of four squirrels, which was actually quite a rip off now that I think about it. Today has been a tough day for the both of us. We are starving after eating a paltry rabbit stew with a few mangled carrots and half rotten potatoes._

_Predators had gotten to my traps first and I lost four rabbits today leaving me only with one to bring home. I’m going out tomorrow after school to see if I can shoot a few birds with mother’s bow. Full bellies will definitely lift our spirits._

_Sam’s day was different.  He was punished in school for making an offhand complaint about the Capitol in front of a ‘law abiding’ teacher. Luckily, he hadn’t been whipped but instead was forced to clean every classroom floor. He didn’t get home until four hours after school ended and his arms ached from cleaning. So I was comforting him with stories._

_“D-DEAN, G-GGET OUT HERE!” I hear John drunkenly yell from outside our closed door. I ignore him like I usually do. After several minutes he usually just gives up and passes out in his bedroom. Tonight, he keeps screaming and screaming. Sam is frozen, needle poised in the air. I scratch my hands absently and waiting for the inevitable silence._

_It never comes._

_The door begins to rattle and the iron knob twists and turns back and forth. His pounding fist rattles the wood, raising clouds of dust._

_“OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR, YOU LITTLE SHIT.” I didn’t even realize I had locked the door, but now I’m grateful that I did. I watch Sam neatly put his work away in the chest at the foot of the bed and climb beneath the covers. He huddles close to me and I encircle my arms around him in protection. We both shake and I can feel the steady sprint of both of our hearts._

_“I S-SSAID OPEN THE GOD_ DAMN _MOTHERFUCKING DOOR, Y-YOU LITTLE ASSHOLE,” John screams before I feel bits of wood slap my face from the impact of him booting down the door. Things slow down and my first instinct is to protect Sammy. I shove him to the floor and watch him crawl beneath the bed. I cower in the middle of the mattress with the sheets pooling around my ankles. Beyond pushing Sam out of the way, I cannot move. My brain is yelling at me to RUN but I can’t control my body._

 _A fist connects with my cheek and my jaw feels stiff. It’s almost as if it’s not really happening to me, as blow after blow pummels my face. The amount of pain is not what I expected or remembered. The times he had hit me before was_ nothing _compared to this. The pain follows a few seconds after each punch. My eyes cross as each set of bloodied knuckles swings towards me. My vision begins to swim and I feel myself swaying on the bed._

_Huh, when did all that blood fleck onto the comforter?_

_Suddenly, I feel the roots of my hair being grabbed as my eyes blur with tears. Distantly, I hear myself crying and moaning ‘stop’. Why won’t he_ stop _? What did I do? A second later I feel my skull slam against the heavy wood of the frame of the bed. The side of my head comes down three more times before my face is dragged up to John’s._

_He is snarling, heavily intoxicated, red faced and his eyes are distant. I hear myself begging and saying ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again. I scream as he pulls me from the bed by the roots of my hair and my legs flop uselessly as he drags me slowly. I scream from the pain in my scalp and I claw at John’s hands. It’s useless because my nails are bitten nubs. I try and try to scratch but it only makes him angrier. He jerks my head back and forth. I cry and scream some more._

_I fall to the floor as my bones scream from the impact with the hard wood. Everything stings and throbs. I want to fight back but I can’t control my body. Why can’t I control it? Is it even mine? Is this a nightmare? With a swift kick to my rib, reality blooms heavy with pain. I cry out - the sound almost inhuman - and I can hardly breathe. I cough and wheeze between screams. I roll over and through my tilted perspective from the floor, I can see Sam shaking with fear. He is crying and his cheeks are splotchy. I see him silently screaming my name and I hear myself whimper for him._

_“Go get help,” I mouth the words to. Sam seems to understand and with my dad occupied with pummeling my body, he makes an escape out the door._

_The minutes tick by like hours and then like days. I sit there silently crying as I feel blood fall from my head, nose, cheeks and arms. My lips twitch and shiver with pain and misery. I can taste the coppery tang of blood. My entire world becomes nothing but throbbing pain with fresh agony being dumped on layer by layer with every kick or punch._

_I feel a booted toe hit my privates which is the worst of all the pain. In my current hell of a universe, it’s the sun of all the hurt I feel. I gasp and wheeze as I roll back and forth in pain. A second later, I feel hands underneath my armpits as I’m being dragged up and thrown against the wall. I lean on it for support until a flat palm slaps across my face. My head whips in to the right and then I feel swollen wet sticky fingers grasp onto the column of my neck._

_I realize that this is the last moment of my life. I think of Cas, beautiful Cas. His eyes shining with love. I think of my mother, a bow in hand with a predatory smile and a quiet laugh. I think of Jo framed by a setting sun and Madge putting finishing touches on a vase of flowers. I think of Sam laughing at the dinner table with his children. I feel myself smile while blood pools into my mouth and I bleed everywhere, stuck against a wall with my father’s hands around my neck. Hands without mercy - wringing the life out of me. My vision wavers and I hear John saying something like “why do you have to look_ so much like her _” and “its your fault she died” but I don’t really understand. I can’t focus. My brain is working slower and slower and the colors around me, and the images, fade to black._

“Sam went to fetch Ellen and luckily she showed up the moment I passed out. She clubbed John with a hammer and she woke me up. I lived with her for a month and didn’t go to school while I recovered. My rib had been cracked along with a whole host of other things that took time to heal.” I looked up and saw Cas with tears in his eyes. Strangely, my eyes were dry.

“Oh _Dean,_ why didn’t you tell me?” His voice wavers and I look to the ground.

“I didn’t want anyone to know. You know what would’ve happened if people found out? Peacekeepers could have taken me away from my father and shoved me in one of those community homes you see on the outskirts of town. I would _never_ have been able to hunt and we could have starved to death. In the long run, it made sense to stay with John. As long as he doesn’t hurt Sammy, I can take the punches.”

“What did Sam say about all of this?”

“He was pissed, still is. The first few times it happened again, he tried to get in the way. I shoved him out the front door and locked every single entrance. I take the hits and dress my wounds afterwards. Luckily, he stopped hitting me in the face. It would draw too much attention you see.” I shiver at the thought of the phantom pain in my rib as I remember. “And he eased up on the…punishing. It’s never been as bad since my time at Ellen’s. Just enough for him to blow off steam and pass out.”

Cas sighs and looks over at me. “What will happen to Sam if you don’t make it?” he asks quietly. I already know the answer, but I pretend to think. But I’ve already made plans for this well before the Reaping occurred, but I mostly lie anyway.

“He’ll go to Ellen’s probably. I told her if anything happened during the Games, she should take him. He could help run the shop and hunt for them. He’ll earn his keep.” Which is true, but the plans are already set in motion. I don’t plan on coming back.

Silence settles over us and I lie back against the couch. Cas nuzzles a cheek into the pillow clutched in his arms.

I turn and knock my shoulder against him while donning a smile. “Enough depressing talk, we’ve had enough of that today. TV?” I offer. A distraction would do me a world of good.

“Find a game show. The dramas are a little too weird for my taste. Bleck.” He sticks his tongue out and shivers in a grimace.

“Yeah, the whole sibling incest thing kinda freaked me out.” I shake in disgust when I think of the second drama that we had stumbled across yesterday before we went to bed. We turned the tv off the second the brother and sister began almost fucking with their tongues.

I quickly find a colorful game show and we sit back to watch squealing Capitol citizens win things they don’t need. Unhappy thoughts are forgotten and we are distracted from the realities of life.

* * *

 

Dinner is announced a few hours, and a few weirdly addicting game shows, later in the form of Effie who bursts into the room. With the grating voice that I’ve still not become used to, she orders us downstairs. I don’t want to get up when I’m deliciously pressed up against Cas from thigh to shoulder. During the past hour we inched closer until we were practically one solid body. It feels like another taste of the past that I can’t seem to stop craving. You can only have so many tastes before you become overpoweringly hungry.

Reluctantly, I make the first move to get up and Cas follows suit. His face is tired and slightly grumpy like a cat. He yawns majestically with a loud gravelly whine. I also watch him take a hand and slide the flesh of his eye into a grotesque stretch, along with the rest of that side of his face. I shake my head and laugh which causes him to frown but with a smile in his eyes.

When we get downstairs, the avoxes are strangely absent along with Cinna and Portia. Consequently, the amount of food on display is a little less than usual, but still quite a lot. Bobby sits strangely sober at the head of the table with no wine glass in sight. Effie sits right next to him with a small plate of salad and a larger plate of dinner food.

Cas and I both sit on Bobby’s other side right next to each other. I feel a little relieved to have Cas next to me instead of across the table from me. The emotional effects of our conversation earlier are slowly being released and his presence soothes me. It’s a dangerous game for me to play, especially after what happened this morning, but I’m weak.

  When I’m seated, I look at the food laid out on the table and it reminds me of our lunch earlier today. The memory makes me feel a little nauseous and I have to carefully breathe to let the nausea pass. Despite the nausea, hunger claws at my stomach and I know I’ll regret it later if I don’t eat now. I can just eat a bit lighter tonight and concentrate more on nutrients. I focus on the salad and begin to serve myself the leafy greens.

“So, you two never told me what ya’ll learned in training today.” I notice all of his earlier anger is erased and his calmness is disturbing. Bobby’s hands don’t shake, his eyes are bright and his face a normal flush of red-not the red of a drunk. Part of me hopes this side of Bobby sticks. A sober mentor would be infinitely more valuable than a drunk one.

Just as quickly as I size up Bobby, I think about our training day today. About what I planned earlier to tell Bobby. All of my nervousness from earlier and those emotions are immediately forgotten in the wake of this pressing issue.

 “Survival, with a bit of fighting,” I say, the lie sliding off my tongue. I look away to load my plate with small bits of meat to top the salad and I add vegetables on the side. I also pluck a steaming white roll to pair with the salad.

“What type of fighting?” His tone is a little too nice, but I dismiss the feeling in my gut as I chomp on my salad and quickly swallow.

“Knives and spears mostly. Cas did pretty good. He has a natural gift!” I answer a little too quickly. I can feel Cas glaring beside me.

“Oh really now, how _fascinating,_ ” Bobby says so sweetly that I suspect for a moment he can spot the hole in my story. “Well, why doesn’t Castiel here show us his _skill?_ ” Bobby gets up and draws a target on a wall thirty feet away. “Take your steak knife there and hit the bull’s eye. I want to see what I’m working with,” he says in that same sickly sweet tone. My stomach drops.

Shit shit shit.

I turn to see Cas standing up with the steak knife slightly vibrating in his hand from nervousness. He closes one eye and sticks his tongue out a little before flicking the thing at the wall. I know what will happen even before the knife leaves his hand. I watch as it hits about five feet away from the target.

“What you two _idjits_ forget is that I know people.” He gets up and paces behind us with his hands behind his back. “I know certain _people_ who are experts. People who are masters of knot tying and shelter building.” Bobby ducks in between us both and glares at each of us individually.

His face is dyed a light red with rage. “You _didn’t think_ I would keep an eye on you two damn fools? From what I hear, you two damn idjits monopolized the whole survival section! Didn’t even fight _ONCE_ ,” he accuses. I look down in shame at the same time Cas does. We both stop eating and fold our hands.

“This damn competition ain’t about how long you can survive in the wilderness. It’s about _how many damn tributes you can kill to save your own damn hides_!” I watch Bobby from beneath my eyelashes as he sits back down. My legs shake restlessly with guilt and the shame that just keeps rolling over me like waves in a storm. I bite the flesh of my mouth and suck the blooming blood.

“You should listen to your mentor, boys,” Effie cuts into the conversation with a slightly normal tone of voice. We sit waiting for her to say more but she drops out of the discussion as quickly as she joined it. She just digs around in her salad and sprinkles a few cranberries on top.

“It’s part of my job to make sure at least one of you makes it. So far, I’ve been shit out of luck with every single tribute I’ve gotten, all except you two.” He sighs and rubs a slightly wrinkled hand over his beard. “Both of you have the most potential I’ve seen in years. Hell, if we’re just going by the robustness of your bodies, you two could almost be considered Careers. Plus, I’ve known about each of you individually for quite some time and I remember back when you two walked around like love sick calves with stars in your eyes.”

“Wait, you _knew_ about our history?” I’ve never really seen Bobby walk around much except for a few times at the Hob. I’d assumed he didn’t know about us and our past. It seems strange for him to bring it up now.

“Everyone in Twelve knew about you two. I think you two boys seem to forget, gossip is the _lifeblood_ of our little area of fenced-in land. Plus, I saw you two idjits swapping saliva near that bakery of yours,” Bobby huffs out to Cas. I can feel my face heat up and Cas’ face is no better.

“Oh my! That is just _too_ adorable!” Effie squeals. I dart my eyes to her and I slink down in my chair a little. Cas just looks annoyed. “Oh!” She practically screams, her eyes bright and wide, “We could use this to get sponsors! The love story of District Twelve. There hasn’t been _anything_ like it before now!”

Cas looks to be on the verge of a meltdown as I watch his face gradually get more pissed off. He’s holding his fork in a white-knuckled grip that _has_ to hurt.

“No,” Cas says in quiet rage.

“I don’t know, Effie,” Bobby warns at the same time.

“Oh, but think of it! Two lovers separated by the Games.” She tries to dazzle and persuade us with a terrifying smile and then it’s replaced by a look of surprised excitement. “We could call them the _star-crossed lovers_ of District Twelve!” She yips as she claps her hands together in enthusiasm.

My stomach drops and I feel sick. I don’t think I could play along with something like that. It would be even harder to keep my emotional distance from Cas and remain platonic partners. There’s no way I can do it

“Bobby, Cas said no and I have to agree. Yeah, it sounds great but we aren’t together for a _reason_. Cas and I,” I debate whether or not to say anything but it might help our case, “we’ve already talked about being together during what could possibly be our final days; it won’t work and we’ve agreed to stay strictly partners….platonically.”

Cas turns to me and grabs my hand. He squeezes a thank you and rewards me with a smile. Yes, it would be too hard to even pretend. Just one more kiss and I would be lost.

“But it will only be pretend!” Effie says, trying to persuade us. Cas is shaking his head no and I snarl.

“Leave it,” Bobby warns her.

“But it’s the perfect angle! It’s just acting. It could save one of them,” she begs in a high falsetto. I glare and stand up, practically towering over her.

“WE SAID NO. IT WON’T BE PRETEND FOR US!” I shout at her. She cowers and drops her fork with a clatter.

Cas gets up and joins as well, but his voice is more stern than actual yelling, “What’s between Dean and I runs so deep that you couldn’t possibly understand. It would open up a wound that still hasn’t healed over. Effie, imagine if you will a hole in a wall.” Cas brings his finger into an O shape to demonstrate said hole. “Cover that hole with the thinnest thing you can imagine and you will come pretty close to what Dean and I are dealing with. Having to pretend like that will just keep punching little holes into that tissue thin layer.” Cas pokes a finger in front of her face with small noises of ‘pop pop pop’. “After a while, that hole will re-open and nothing but pain will be our reward. In your last days, is that something you would like to experience?” he asks her quietly.

Her eyes leak tears and run trails through her makeup.

“N-no, I w-wouldn’t,” she blubbers. She rubs the heel of her hand against her eye leaving a smear of green and black in its wake.

The table is silent and everyone is at a loss as to what to say. My attention is solely on Cas whose face is a mask of sadness mixed with loneliness. I grab his hand again and swipe my thumb back and forth across the back of it. Unbidden, the idea of star-crossed lovers takes root in my mind. Over the next few minutes I think about it and toss it back and forth like an apple in my hands. In truth, it’s not the worst idea. It would allow me to protect Cas and gain quite a bit of sponsorship in the process, which, in turn, would help Cas, too. I decide to break the silence.

“Wait, Cas, it’s actually not a horrible idea.”

“Dean….you just said no. Why are you being a hypocrite?”

I bristle a little at the insult but I brush it off.

“I just thought about it some more and what’s the downside really, Cas? We hold hands, which, we already sort of do,” I hold up our clasped hands as evidence, “and we have chemistry. This could save one of our _lives,_ Cas. And we both know it’s not just us that’s at stake here. Remember what we talked about earlier?”

I watch him ponder the information. His eyes zip back and forth and he worries his plush lip between his teeth.

“When you put it like that, it doesn’t seem so bad.” He smiles slightly and then turns to Bobby. “What do you think would be the appropriate amount of affection? Would we have to kiss or could we get away with hand-holding and prolonged looks?”

Bobby coughs, “Well, I think if any kissing were to happen, it would be in the arena so it’s a possibility. But until you hit the arena, holding hands with that prolonged eye contact thing you idjits do, it should be fine. Of course, you’ll have to fabricate a story.”

“What do you mean?” Cas asks with a tilt of his head.

“Well, do you really want to tell all of Panem your break-up story? Or would you rather make up something froofy?”

“That’s not a bad idea, Cas. We’ll lie about the whole thing and our alliance will benefit us in the arena. Plus,” I turn to him and grab his chin with my free hand, “would kissing me in our last moments together be the worst thing?” It’s a shitty move to make, but it’s how I really feel. I watch curiously as he melts a little before he straightens his back and his face hardens.

“No, but if it’s necessary, I’ll do it,” he says almost harshly. I let go of his chin and his hand.

Bobby says, “Alright now that it’s settled, Effie can be in charge of this whole ‘star-crossed lovers’ rigamarole. Now you two, we need to talk about tomorrow.”

The rest of the meal goes a bit more smoothly. The subject changes to training tactics and overall strategy. Bobby makes it a point to tell us how important fighting techniques are within the arena. Of course, there are only so many ways you can learn to kill a person within two days. He wants us to focus more on adding enhancements to our skill sets instead of trying to master completely new ones.

Cas is going to learn to use his arm power in hand to hand combat with both fists and weaponry. Obviously, throwing knives would be an utter waste of time in his case. He’s going to focus on camouflage techniques, as well. Cas manages to convince Bobby how useful it would be. For example, if you were injured and needed to heal, you could just hide in plain sight until you get better. This way his cake decorating skills could translate into something helpful leaving room for more vital knowledge.

 We decide the things I’ll focus on should be what requires precise aim and fast reaction timing. I will further my skill in knife throwing and learn physical moves that would aid me with a bow and arrow. Basically, I would focus on stances with tucks and rolls that could make me as lethal with a bow as I would be with a rifle. When you can aim, speed is everything.

“There is one very important thing I want you two boys to do over the next two days. I want you to _not_ show off your talents. Especially you, princess,” Bobby points at me with a gnarled finger. “Don’t you dare even touch a bow. And you,” he looks to Cas, “you stay below the radar, too. Let the competition underestimate you. Some of the best tributes, outside of the Careers, get taken out within the first two minutes of the Games if they consider them serious competition.”

“What about alliances?” Cas asks.

“With who? That’s the important question,” I add. I don’t plan on buddying up with anyone beyond Cas. It would be a liability.

“I don’t think you two need to worry about that. When we release our star-crossed lover schtick, you’ll only need each other. Of course, if you feel the _need_ to partner up with anyone, feel free. Just exercise some damn common sense. And I’m talking to you,” Bobby points his finger at me again.

“Fine, I see your point. I don’t think you’ll have to worry. Anyone else besides Cas is a hindrance. This idiot might poison himself on berries or something.” I laugh as Cas glares at me. 

“Now that we’ve got that settled, I think it’s time we all went to bed. Or at least you two idjits. You need your strength. It’s gonna be quite a workout for you two,” he warns with a grizzled smile.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” I say cockily as I get up and head for the stairs. Cas gets up a second later and follows me.

The next few hours fly by as I relax with a warm shower, changing into fresh clothes and watching more tv with Cas. It’s starting to become a habit of ours which I don’t think is a bad thing. We find more game shows and lie back on the couches in the darkened room, the dazzling lights illuminating our faces. We sit close again and strangely enough, Cas takes hold of my hand. I don’t object but instead sink into his warmth and revel in the soft palm of his hand.

Not too long after, we shut off the tv and climb into bed together. We face one another and I sigh.

“What’s on your mind, Dean?” Cas asks tentatively. I can feel the oncoming conversation sneak like a gas into the atmosphere around us. I give in and spread the thoughts of my mind into it.

“Just the avoxes. It was strange that they weren’t in the dining room,” I say quietly.

“We never talked about what happened with them the other day, did we?” I shake my head in reply. “Why did you do that, Dean. She was obviously scared. Couldn’t you tell?”

I breathe deeply and pull the pillow closer to my face. “Honestly? No. All I could see was Jo’s face. And Mary’s. And Madge’s. I saw _all_ of their faces in her and I…snapped.”

“That makes a bit of sense. I was surprise you didn’t freak out over the boy, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he’s from Twelve.”

“Again, what do you mean, Cas?”

“Didn’t you recognize him? That was Samandriel. His family tried to escape Twelve and he was the only one caught alive. The rest were presumed dead after no sign was found.”

“When did this happen?” I think back to the thousands of faces and I couldn’t place his name with the face I saw yesterday.

“Two years ago. It was a huge deal, everyone talked about it. His last name is Godwin, ring any bells?” Oh, _Godwin_. Now I remember. It makes sense why I thought I recognized him.

“So now he’s here, with no tongue.”

“That’s what it looks like.”

“Thank god we never tried to escape. I don’t think I could handle a life like that,” I admit selfishly. I try to imagine Cas only able to make those throaty noises and the sense of _wrong_ makes me shiver.

“I pity them. I wish we could do something but alas, we are in no position to help,” Cas admits sadly.

“I have to say, today has been one hell of a depressing day,” I laugh as I grab Cas’ hand. I feel his thumb stroke the top of my hand gently.

“You need rainy days to enjoy the sunny ones.” I nod in agreement and gaze at him. I take in his beautiful lips, the tiny cleft in his chin, the arrow straight nose and the glowing blue eyes.

“I missed this,” I admit softly.

“I did, too.”

I watch Cas fall asleep and I smile as I realize Cas’ defenses are slowly coming down. Brick by brick they are going to crumble. Hell, with the amount of hand-holding in the past few hours, a whole wall must’ve been knocked by down. A warm feeling of hope glows in my chest as sleep overtakes me.

We fall asleep with our hands clasped together in the middle of the bed between us and soft smiles on our faces.


	6. Chapter 6

My eyes shoot open in panic as I feel the comforter bunch beneath my shaking fingers. I realize a moment later there are arms holding me while a whisper repeats the same two words over and over again.

“It’s ok.”

Snatches of scenes reel through my mind. Sam a bloodied pulp on the ground dressed in a tribute uniform. Cas bruised and alone in a corner with a skinny shadow hovering above him. Running through a forest with Cas in tow until a flying axe pierces him in the back. Purple like blood of nightshade berries dribbling from his mouth as Cas’ empty eyes stare blankly.

I hear myself whimper and I wiggle closer to Cas. His arms tighten and a large hand strokes my back while he hums comforting noises.

“I think I had a nightmare,” I whisper breathily. I feel Cas’ face move against my cheek and the tickle of his hair against my temple. Even his scent wraps around me like a blanket.

“I would suppose so. Care to elaborate?”

“Not particularly.” I’d rather not breathe more life into the images that still flash in my mind’s eye.

“That’s alright, we dealt with a lot yesterday. I had a feeling this might happen,” Cas admits. The warmth of his breath moves against the shell of my ear. I snuggle in closer and feel his arms tighten just a little more. I hum in agreement.

Cas cradles me in silence while running his fingers through the strands of my hair. He hums a song from home I know well. It’s a love song about two lovers and a willow tree. They meet beneath it’s arm-like branches and watch the brightness of the moon against the blanket of stars.

“I miss this,” I sigh sadly. Cas stops humming and his fingers freeze in my hair. He exhales slowly before dropping a kiss on my forehead. He pulls himself away just enough to look me in the eyes. The glow of the city illuminates his face in an eerie white glow.

“Dean, we’ve talked about this-”

“We have, but… I don’t know if I can do it.”

“Why is your mind shifting so much?” Now that’s the question of the hour. Even I can’t answer that. It seems so easy to make promises and feel in that moment that you can follow through. Now all I want to do is tear down these walls and build new ones around us. To protect the fragile thing between us that could be blown apart by just a small breeze.

I take my hand and cup his soft cheek running my thumb up and down slowly. “I think facing the eventual reality of dying or of both of our demises is putting things into perspective.” I feel a shudder run through my body before continuing, “It’s so damn _easy_ to make whatever promises you ask for. All I want to do is please you and make you happy. I love you enough to give you something I don’t want to give but on the other side of it, I love you so much that I selfishly _want_ to break those promises. Does that make sense?” It’s the best way I can put it without putting too much on the line. It feels strange to change my mind so suddenly. But it’s what my stupid heart is telling me.

“I think I understand, but it’s still dumb. It’s very _Dean_ of you,” Cas replies seriously. The fingers begin their journey back and forth through my hair again. “Why couldn’t you have done this two years ago? Now it just seems too late…”

Years of pain fill that small silence as we stare at each other, the weight of the words keeping us grounded. Its keeps me from floating away into impossible thoughts. Thoughts I shouldn’t be entertaining in the first place.

“You still love me, right?” I ask trying to mask my hopefulness. I brace myself for the answer.

“Unfortunately, I do.” I pull in a quick breath and feel my heart sigh contently in my chest as in unfurls in joy.

“What about what you said this morning? Is it the same as how I feel, or is it a case of your leftover feelings from what we used to be?”

Cas’ face softens and his lids become heavy. He brings his face closer and our lips are a hairsbreadth away. As he replies, I can feel his warm breath on my own lips.

“My feelings have never waned.”

His lips fall gently onto mine and my eyes close. Electricity and warmth spirals through my veins. Something clicks into place as our mouths slot together in a give and take of pleasure. My hand falls away from his face and grabs the back of his neck pulling him in closer. Cas’ own arms encircle my shoulders and pull our bodies tighter together.

Our hot breaths intermingle and I can hear Cas moan softly into each wave of our kiss. His mouth is the moon and mine is the ocean. He calls and I follow. His arms wrap around my back and he rolls himself on top of me. Our noses smash against each other’s face and I revel in the taste of his mouth. Cas’ blunt fingernails scratch down my back and I gasp pulling away.

Quickly, I feel Cas’ lips attach to my jaw and they travel down the column of my neck. His kisses are lightly with punctuated long strokes of his tongue. His mouth spreads wide as his pecks turn into crashing waves of affection. I’m hopelessly lost.

His hips roll against mine as the gentle drag of his hard cock rubs against my own. The material bunches and all I want is to feel the soft skin against my own. Our kisses turn more heated and our tongues lick into each other’s mouths. I maneuver my hands to his hips and pull down the silky material of his pants. He breaks our kiss and stares down at me.

“I want to feel your skin again,” he breathes softly. I want the same. I grab my own pants and slip them off. Awkwardly, Cas moves off of me and strips his clothing in a hurry. Less than a minute later, we both are sitting naked with only inches separating us.

“Cas,” I whine, as he envelopes me in his strong arms again. Our bodies crash against each other like a strong wind in the trees. The light of the city glows upon the tan patches of his skin and illuminates my own. His eyes are so _beautiful_ as they gaze down at me.

“I missed this, I missed _you,”_ Cas confesses.

“There’s not been a day that goes by that I haven’t thought of you. Even when John tears me down, your face is my salvation.” The part of my mind conditioned by my father screams at me to quit this heart to heart. To not appear weak and overly emotional. But I squash the thoughts and revel in this, in _us._

It’s been so long since I’ve opened myself up. Cas has always been the key. He’s the _only_ key.

“The day you left is the day you took a part of me with you. You’ve held it ever since and I’m glad it’s returning to me,” Cas admits with such intense emotion that I forget to breathe. He brings his hand to my chest and holds it over my heart as it gallops at the touch.

I feel regretful thinking about that.

He’ll only be whole for less than a week at best. Afterward, he’ll be incomplete for the rest of his life.

I kiss him in lieu of a lie. I translate my love and all consuming passion into the friction of our hips. I flip us over and cage him within my muscle honed arms. He smiles up at me and drags an index finger along my cheek.

“I love you,” he murmurs like a verbal caress.

“And I you,” I reply with the same amount of feeling.

I place my weight on my elbows and hold my chest up as I journey down his torso with my lips. I lick at the sensitive nubs of his nipples and skate along the rim of his navel with the tip of my tongue. I suck a bruise onto his hip bone and bite the meat of the lines leading into a carved V near his pelvis. I get closer and closer to the swollen flesh that leaks Cas’ arousal. The pre-cum is shiny, slick and pretty. His cock engorged and heavy with beauty. I suck the tip into my mouth and feel his body spasm beneath my fingers as I hold his hips down.

He sucks a breath into his mouth like a hiss and follows it with a bodily groan. I inch my way down enjoying every second of it. The familiar taste sooths me and the heavy flesh stretches my mouth open with muscles tight from disuse. I keep a steady rhythm and watch Cas break apart under my mouth and hands. His head turns back and forth wildly against the pillow. His mouth opens and closes around moans. His fists bunch until the tan skin across his knuckles looks white. His legs are locked with taut muscles as they spread out to fence me in.

The best part is his eyes. They rarely close and watch me with such rapt attention. I feel pleasure from just that alone. I itch to drag my fingers along my own arousal but I’ll be able to seek that soon enough. I flick my tongue along a special spot just an inch down from the head. I use the tip of my tongue to punch the spot repeatedly until his body is a gratifying pile of mush. I wet his cock until it’s soaked with my saliva mixed with his pre-come.

I can’t stand it any long and I slide off with a wet pop. Cas’ head snaps up and he growls.

“ _Dean_.”

I climb back into his lap and align our closely matched heights together. The wet exterior of his cock slides deliciously against my own and the friction is heavenly. I take my hand and create a tight channel around our cocks as I pump my hips. Cas groans like a greedy whore and I love it. I tell him I love it with small nips against his neck and the wet slide of my lips against his jaw. His eyes never leave mine and the blue is just a sliver. Mine can’t be any better I’d imagine.

So amped up are we that the sliding of our cocks within my hand brings us to the brink within minutes. Sweat drips down from my forehead to my cheek and Cas is looking no better. With a single cry we both manage to cum at roughly the same time. I feel myself tense up and stop as he does the same. I cry out and slam my lips on his absorbing his own loud deep moan. My orgasm crashes over me and all that’s left behind is long awaited peace.

I roll off of him and quickly run with shaky legs to the bathroom. I pick up a washcloth and wet it a bit before bringing it back to the bed. I clean Cas’ stomach as he lies with his eyes still closed in the afterglow.

Not much is said when I come back from putting the washcloth into the laundry basket. Nothing needs to be said. Everything is communicated with soft touches, the closeness of our bodies and gentle smiles.

* * *

 

“Cas,” I whisper. He moans a little before turning his back to me. The sheet slips off his shoulder and bares the muscled valleys of his back and shoulders. I push against his shoulder back and forth as he becomes more disgruntled.

“Leave me alone,” Cas moans before dragging the sheet over his head to create a soft thin cave of material. I sigh, then use all my strength to push him off the edge of the bed.

“Fuck!” He yelps. He brings down half the sheet and cocoons the lower half of his body in it. I can see the two tan globes of his ass peek from the top of the sheet. I smile and laugh at his harried expression.

“It’s training day again. We’ve only got forty-five minutes to get there,” I explain before sliding across the bed and falling to the floor next to him. I take my hand and softly pet his cheek as he closes his eyes, soaking in the touch. He kisses my palm and manages to lift himself by his arms.

“Shower?” He asks tentatively. I exhale with a small smile manipulating the corners of my mouth.

“Nothing sexy, strictly business, ok?”

Cas smiles even wider and then his eyelids go heavy. “That’s for later, Winchester,” he purrs..

A bolt of heat solidifies my cock and I moan, “I take it back, screw training day. Let’s just start the party in the shower and spend all day in bed celebrating,” I whine just a little. Cas is amused and he gets to his feet, gloriously naked. My eyes watch his semi-hard cock bounce around with the movement.

“Come on, Dean, I’ll even wash your back with that pine soap you love so much,” he offers as he sticks out a hand to help me up from the floor. I grab the anchor and pull myself up. His eyes drop down to my heavy erection and a delightful blush colors his cheeks.

“How do you know about the pine soap?” I ask along the way to the bathroom.

“I have a nose, Dean. You practically _smell_ like the old hunting days.” I lift my arm and take a quick whiff. Yep, not wrong.

We both take a shower without tempting one another, or at least _I_ try. Cas wiggles his hips in my direction but I manage to ignore him in favor of washing my body. He huffs and goes back to conditioning his dark brown hair that’s now black from the water.

During breakfast, we shovel our food into our mouths quickly with only ten minutes to spare. We only eat enough to staunch the hunger since our primary focus today will be physical training. Meanwhile Effie, dressed in a garish shade of light blue with streaks of gleaming silver thread woven in, yells at us from the sidelines in a screeching falsetto. As soon as we’re finished, we follow her with hurried footsteps and twin expressions of annoyance.

Our trip to the center is the same as the day before except Graysen is dressed in metallic silver. He’s even wearing silver eye shadow with grey lipstick. He’s equally as excited as before as he presses the buzzer and lets us through. I watch the balcony again as we stride into the room. I see a paunchy man dressed in a black suit with a red tie standing at the railing. His face is covered in a slight beard and his hair is on the verge of balding. He seems amused and nods in my direction with a lift of his champagne glass. I don’t know who he is, but he must be important. I ignore him in favor of trying not to upset the gamemakers who will, eventually, be the conductors of my death.

Effie left us, once again, the moment we walked across the threshold into the training room. Cas and I observe the room again, just like yesterday, and we watch the various tributes fight. The survival booths are busier and the Careers are all competing with throwing knives and shooting arrows at the various targets. One Career off to the side is throwing weights with handles a mediocre distance. I’ve seen Cas throw farther with nearly the same weight.

Without a word, Cas and I nod at one another before walking away in separate directions. I head to the hand to hand combat booth while Cas explores the weights. There’s no one else in line except for the tribute from ten whose fighting pose is decent, albeit his punches are weak. The fight doesn’t last long and the tired tribute walks away sweating with his chest heaving. I turn to the expert whose face is set in a hard line.

His eyes glint like hard obsidian as he bellows, “You’ll be learning fist to fist combat with minimal use of legs but with complicated footwork. Think you can handle that?” His tone is rough with no room for question.

He looks tough like a weather beaten rock and he’s beautifully muscled. I nod and get into a fighting stance with arms up and legs spread apart. I don’t have much experience with hand combat and I’m not surprised when my body is knocked to the floor within seconds. The air rushes out of me like a popped balloon as I slam against the pad we’re standing on.

“Anticipate my movements!” he shouts at me. I reluctantly get up and hold up my fists. “Elbows tucked into your body! Keep them stable.” I do as he asks and I watch his own arms for the indication of a hit. I manage to react better this time round and dodge the blow, but he uppercuts into my jaw a moment later. The punch doesn’t have much power, but it’s enough to make me reel with a bit of hazy vision.

My face turns angry and I focus all my energy on watching for the split-second movements coming my way. I improve with every hit and I adjust until I can successfully dodge and block a few well-timed punches. The instructor is impressed and challenges me with fancy footwork. I stumble and it’s not perfect, but I keep trying anyway through the trickle of sweat sliding down from my hairline.

I keep this up for over an hour and almost forget about Cas entirely until he shows up waiting for his turn. The instructor blocks a punch and tells me I did a good job. I smile and walk off the black mat. Every inch of my body is slicked with a film of sweat that clings to my clothing and skin. I see Cas is equally as sweaty with dots of moisture flecked on his forehead.

“What did you do?” I ask almost breathless. Each time I breathe, I’m practically gulping in the air.

He crosses his arms before answering casually, “Threw around some weights to see what I could throw. Learned some body lifting movements.” I suddenly remember what Bobby said to us yesterday through the pounding of my heart in my ears.

“We aren’t supposed to show everyone our strengths, Cas. Remember what Bobby said?”

“Yeah, and I precisely remember him telling _me_ to focus on hand to hand combat. You should go work with that trainer over there,” Cas turns and points out a blonde woman who looks well-muscled with a mean streak in her eyes. “She specializes in knife combat. You could even ask her to show you some moves to accompany a bow and arrow.”

“Alright, fine. Let’s separate and I’ll see you at lunch. You can tell me how weight throwing went, alright?” I smile at him and he melts just a tiny bit before he turns to the trainer.

* * *

 

Training with the knife specialist is an eye-opening experience. The woman is blonde with deep tan skin which is a striking combination. Her eyes shine like gold in her small petite face. She only stands up to my shoulder. I don’t know her name, but she’s deadly with a small blade and effectively teaches me how to handle it in a series of movements involving drops, juggling and throwing it from hand to hand. She gives me a plastic knife with a dull edge to work with. She stands by with a critical eye and quietly makes suggestions.

Her demeanor isn’t rough, but more of a deadly calm. If she was a force of nature, she’d be the ocean. Calm and serene but capable of great terror like rolling three story waves and the rare tsunami. I can respect that and I blossom under her tutelage.

“Do you have knife experience?” she mutters as her eyes follow my knife in the air as I catch it expertly.

“Maybe, maybe not,” I answer coolly. It’s still the Capitol after all. Even though it’s my death march, other’s lives will be at stake until I take my last breath. Any handling of weaponry beyond your trade is illegal. The Careers get away with it because their districts are the least threatening. It would almost be like giving a pet a weapon. It wouldn’t harm you with it in any way.

Her mouth thins out but she understands. She doesn’t ask me much else for the rest of our session. Any questions pertain to my understanding of any and all moves she throws at me. Even when we veer off into tucks and rolls with a bow she doesn’t question my seasoned skilled with the weapon.

The bow I use is special in which it can be dry-fired without shattering the limbs. By the raising of her eyebrows, she’s impressed at my simulated speed of finding my anchor point after springing up from a tuck and roll. I smile devilishly at her and I’m rewarded with a slight blush across her skin.

Lunch arrives soon after I’ve accomplished a series of complex moves while I simulate firing off five arrows in quick succession. During our meal, we both learn not to indulge too much this time. We eat only a bit of fruit, some meat and one roll of bread each. We practically inhale our food after the energy we expended earlier and push our plates out of the way.

 Cas watches me with a twinkle in his eye and a sly grin. I can’t help but feel heat color my cheeks as he takes his foot and slowly slides it up my ankle to my calf. It’s slow and unhurried, just a motion to feel the other’s presence. It makes me smile and I itch to touch his hand where it lays flat on the table.

We don’t say much and speak in small gestures or silent messages with our eyes. A language I thought lost to both of us is being renewed and I couldn’t be happier. But eventually, I break the silence. I’m dying to know how Cas’ sessions went.

“How did fighting work out for you?” I practically hum. His lazy eyes unlatch from the opposite wall and look at me.

“My strength is a much bigger asset than I first realized and my reflexes are pretty sharp,” he marvels quietly. Cas was always smart and quick. The few times I took him hunting he picked up on the smallest things. Almost like he could anticipate and wiggle himself inside the prey’s mind.

“How about you?” Cas asks with nothing but his full attention.

“Pretty well. Evidently, I’m limber on my feet which allows me to complete natural complicated footwork. You’d think we were dancing instead of fighting,” I pause, “with the knives, that is.”

“They do use the same basic principles, one’s just deadlier than the other,” Cas replies like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Where did you ever learn to dance?” A bolt of jealousy burns through me. Cas just laughs with his chin resting on a raised fist.

“I don’t, but I know how it’s done. It’s like sex, Dean,” Cas’ eyes heat up and a Cheshire grin displays his pearly whites. “You can know from theory alone, not practice.”

I roll my eyes and shove at his shoulder.

“To get back on track,” my words dripping with sarcasm, “she also taught me how to tuck and roll while using momentum to put power behind my draw.”

Cas excitedly asks me to elaborate. He listens with complete focus as I describe as much as I can from memory alone. In turn, he favors me with a recount of what he learned with the hand-to-hand combat instructor. Apparently, Cas’ muscles had nearly let him overtake the trainer.

Soon the Game’s coordinators instruct us that lunch is now over and we shuffle back into the training room. When we enter, I look up to the game makers who seem to be enjoying a lunch of their own. They laugh around their crystal glasses of champagne while plucking bites of food from the nearby table. I see a fountain of sauce they dunk pieces of meat into with pointy sticks. I narrow my eyes before turning away from the gag-inducing sight.

I can never understand their indulgence while thousands starve like dogs in the street.

Cas leaves me with a lingering touch on my forearm and a small mischievous smile. I nod with mirth in my eyes before turning and running into another tribute.

“I-I’m sorry,” the boy stutters out. I look down to see it’s the smaller tribute from District Eleven. I remember his name is Rufus Turner and he’s the youngest tribute this year being only twelve.

“Hey, no harm no foul,” I laugh with a small pat on the boy’s shoulder. The kid has small brown eyes with his nose being the dominant feature. His nose would look more in-place on a grown man instead of this pre-teen. The kid’s also bone -skinny if the deep valleys around his collarbone are any indication.

“What’s your name?” the boy asks softly.

I stick out my hand, “Dean Winchester of District-”

“Twelve, yeah, I know,” the boy chuckles before thrusting his palm out to clasp my hand. The kid’s grip is strong for such fragile bony hands and little to no real muscle in his arms.

“Rufus Turner,” he answers without me even asking, a small toothy grin lighting up his features.  I smile back with a friendliness I usually reserve for Cas or anyone in my small family.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why are you being so friendly?” Tributes are less inclined to speak to one another for obvious reasons; it’s usually not done. With the way Effie and Bobby go on about them, it’s almost like they aren’t human beings at all.

The Capitol can even be cruel beyond their reach.

Rufus doesn’t stop smiling. “It’s because I like you,” he answers as if it’s the simplest thing. Like a truth universally known by all. He intrigues me and somehow he reminds me of Sam. It’s probably their friendliness despite being born into a cruel world. An ache grows inside my chest thinking of my brother.

I laugh despite the pang of sadness inside my chest, “And how did you come to that conclusion?”

“On the television in my room. I don’t have much to do and it’s the only thing besides talking to my mentor…” Rufus trails off quietly.

 I remember seeing all the coverage about my reaping on the TV. My reaping was the most talked about because of my sacrifice. I try to think about the other reapings I saw circulating on the news, but I can’t remember anything of District Eleven. I only saw the two tributes at the opening ceremonies in matching sparkling blue overalls.

“So you saw my brother Sam?”

“Yeah! He was _really_ tall!” Rufus laughs extending his hand above his head. I laugh at Rufus’ large eyes and awestruck expression.

“He’s six foot four, can you believe it?” I fondly remember the summer Sam sprouted like a tree in the span of a few months. One moment he was smaller than me and the next, he was almost hitting the doorways with his forehead. No one ever thinks they’ll be looking up at their younger sibling.

Rufus looks up at him in awe from his paltry four foot and a handful of inches height. The kids in the districts are all rather short, especially the young ones, from malnutrition. Rufus is no different with his bones pressing harshly against his skin like they’re clambering to get out.

“Ehem.”

Rufus and I both turn to a pale-blonde woman with almost white skin and dark red lipstick dressed in a concrete grey jumpsuit with gleaming silver glasses.

“This is your training time, not a social hour,” the woman hisses, before snapping her talon-like fingers and pointing toward the survival booths. I sneer at her before turning back to Rufus.

“It was nice meeting you, Rufus.” His eyes smile but his mouth doesn’t deviate from the straight line it’s set into.

“You too, Dean,” he replies before turning around and skipping off to the knot-tying booth. The woman scowls at me and turns around with a sharp click of her grey heels. I snarl silently before heading back to the fighting area.

* * *

 

The rest of the training session today goes by without much incident. I can feel my body becoming sore and weary from the constant physical boundaries I keep pushing with my body. Muscles unused to the punishment are aching and my feet wail in pain with each step after being on them constantly for most of the day. Cas seems to be in the same condition if his limping is anything to go by.

When we’re finished, Effie comes to pick us up and we don’t speak the entire excruciating walk back up to our floor. We release quiet moans or sharp intakes of breath every few minutes. The real task is getting up the stairs in our condition.

It’s in the top five hardest things I’ve had to do. Well, that’s exaggerating a bit, but presently it feels like it. I practically have to grab each leg and swing it up onto every step until eventually, eight minutes or so later, I’m collapsing onto the mattress with an equally exhausted Cas.

We groan and moan but find each other’s hands despite the twinge of pain. His palm is broken out in angry red sores where calluses are starting to grow. Luckily for me, I’ve had years of steady work with my hands to create a nice barrier of protection. The hardest thing Cas has ever handled is flour sacks.

We don’t speak as I feel his thumb trail back and forth in the curve that connects my thumb to my forefinger. I smile and turn to look at him. His cheek rests against the grey comforter that’s stuffed with cloud-soft feathers. His eyes look brighter in comparison with the soft grey and his teeth shine with his smile.

A small moment, suspended in time, huddles like wings around us. The aches and pains slide away like an encompassing blanket. My fingers and toes feel slightly tingly and a slight haze of white hovers around my vision as Cas becomes the only thing in my sights.

It’s a beautiful moment that I want to live in forever. To have time suspended and cocoon us in this perfect snapshot of our lives.

I wiggle closer and close my eyes as I dip my mouth down to slot against his hot lips. It’s a lingering press that unfurls into a sweeping wave.  I don’t push for more as Cas greedily accepts. Each moment feels like we are trying to make up for so much wasted time. I end up rolling on top of Cas as his arms slowly wrap around my back and hold me securely. His thumb still sweeps along at a leisurely pace as my own hands fold around the back of his head in a solid grip.

The kissing hits a crescendo as Cas’ tongue slips inside and languidly trails along my own. Eventually, his tongue leaves mine in pace and our mouths slow-down from crashing waves into the soft flowing rhythm of a gentle river. I’m the first to pull away with a lingering kiss and then I roll back to his side with my face resting on his chest. With effort, his right arm cradles my back and we fall asleep.

We both wake up when Bobby bangs on the door to announce dinner. Our muscles have gotten even more sore from immobility so we hiss as we disentangle our bodies to head downstairs. The pain is much worse than earlier and it takes even more effort to make it down the stairs.

When I get to the table before Cas, Bobby sits there smirking.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up old man. Ha, ha, ha.”

“At least I know you two idjits actually practiced fighting today,” Bobby huffs around a swig of whiskey. His cheeks are a little red but he’s not drunk.

Effie is absent from the table along with anyone else.

“Where is everyone?” Cas asks as he limps to a chair across from me and beside Bobby.

“Working. We’re down to the final show-stopping hours for your big “star-crossed lovers” deal. Cinna is working on coordinating costumes, I don’t really know much since I honestly couldn’t give two shits about fabrics. Effie is meeting up with a few contacts who have ties within the sponsoring community. She’s laying down the groundwork for pre-sponsorship,” Bobby explains as he spoons some mashed potatoes onto his plate.

“Is that even allowed?” I ask as I fill my own plate as well. The soreness and constant physical activity from today has given me a more heightened appetite than usual.

“We can’t officially sign anyone on, but we can sorta get people to _promise_ to sponsor. We’ve never done this before, or at least for a long time, so it’s a bit new to me too.”

That speaks volumes about their chances. A flare of hope for Cas grows stronger like a constantly-fed flame.

That’s the most they get out of Bobby as their mentor asks both of them to describe what they learned and trained for today. I listen raptly as Cas goes into minute-detail about his training. He was mostly throwing weights around to scare off a few tributes, specifically a few of the Careers who’d been looking at Cas like meat to chew and spit out. He’d thrown a large one hundred and twenty pound weight with both hands in their direction causing them to scatter like mice. I laugh and Cas beams with pride. Even Bobby chuckles as he mutters under his breath “damn Careers”.

Dinner goes by quickly and before we know it, Cas and I are dragging each heavy leg up the stairs. We don’t attempt to do much more than painfully peel our clothes off into a sweaty smelly pile in the laundry basket.

“Shower?” I groan.

“Shower,” Cas moans back.

With our dicks swinging, we practically crawl to the glass shower and strictly wash ourselves. We take our time, unlike this morning, and carefully wash each other with lavender soap. Cas picks the scent this time and even I’ll admit it smells pretty damn good.

We get the gel into a lather and use our hands as cloths to wash one another. Both our dicks twitch with interest and harden fairly quickly. Despite aching a bit from my arousal, the pains of my body far outmatch the sexual ache I feel. I think Cas feels the same since he keeps his hands as least a few inches away from my cock and crease in the middle of my butt cheeks.

I do end up kissing Cas as my soapy hands glide along the planes of his back, kneading his sore muscles. His own hands slowly massage my shoulders, and coupled with the heat, makes my muscles less pained. The effect of the heat must be doing the same thing to Cas as he starts to move around a bit more. Suddenly the pain is replaced with an all-consuming _want_. I growl and dig my hands into his wet back with the blunt edge of my nails.

Roughly, Cas pushes me against the steamed glass wall of the shower as the pain seems to drain away from him as well. My back presses up against the cubicle as Cas presses his body up along mine. I can feel the slow drag of his hard cock against my own length as his hips shift subconsciously in time with our lips. I moan and slide my hands from his shoulders down to his waist and eventually to his opening with a sly forefinger. He flinches and attacks my mouth more fiercely. I grab a large chunk of his ass and use my finger to slowly circle around the muscle.

Cas whines, “ _Dean_.”

“Not too sore, Cas?” I chuckle before pressing my finger even harder on his opening. He whimpers.

“I want to be sore,” he replies quietly. The blood inside me boils and I grin wickedly before going to the panel and getting a palm full of lube.

“I want you to turn against the wall, spread your legs, and thrust out for me. Can you do that?” Cas nods and gets into the position. I suck in a breath as his pretty opening faces me. All of the hair is gone and just smooth skin remains around his entrance and ass.

“Cas….let’s get out of the shower and go to the bed,” I order. Cas turns a confused expression towards me before getting up and turning around. Without asking, he turns the shower off and leaves the stall to go to the bed. Before leaving the bathroom, I grab a glass normally used for water and dump the excess lube into the cup.

Surprisingly, Cas is on all fours presenting himself to me as I walk into the room. I smile and chuckle.

“Someone’s eager.”

Cas replies with a whine while wiggling his hips. I don’t need to be told twice as I climb up onto the bed and stare at the pretty puckered hole. The skin is pink with just a hint of brown with a few small moles two inches away. I set the cup down nearby and proceed to tongue the muscle. Cas gasps and moans as I expertly lick him open.

I remember our first time with this act. Cas was the one to try it on me first and he was so gentle and _attentive_. Every few seconds he would ask if it was alright but eventually, he learned to stop asking and just _do_. I’d been a quivering mass against the sun-warmed rock in the middle of the forest. He even nipped the wrinkled skin with his front two teeth. I shiver just remembering.

I use that move from so long ago and Cas cries out before taking his hands and slapping them down on his own ass. He grabs each cheek and pulls them apart, giving me more access. I cover his hands with my own and viciously tongue the area until Cas is shaking apart. I even manage to get a bit of shallow penetration with my tongue.

“ _Please!_ ” Cas shouts against the comforter. I grin before sticking my tongue in _just_ a little bit more before even I can’t handle it anymore. My cock is hard, aching and leaking in want.

I pull my mouth and hands away to dip two fingers into the lube coating the bottom of the glass. Slowly, I insert an entire finger and find that it goes in very easily. Cas was always so good about relaxing. He loves to bottom just as much as me.  The prep doesn’t take too long before he’s greedily taking all four of my fingers with wanton moans muffled by the down of the comforter.

“Get on your back,” I instruct quietly. Without any fuss, or much noise, Cas rolls over and spreads his legs open - inviting me in. I run my fingers along the insides of his thighs and kiss his elevated knee. Cas’ eyes close with a soft breathy sigh.

With more lube coating my fingers, I slick it upon my length and hover in between the opening of Cas’ thighs. His arousal lays heavy against his stomach with no foreskin in sight. A small pool of pre-cum leaks from the tip and I itch to take it into my mouth.

But we’ve both waited long enough for this.

I hold my breath as I push in and Cas yields oh so easily.  Cas quietly moans as I slowly bottom out and feel my hips flush against his pelvis. I bring my face close to his.

“Open your eyes.”

Two twin rings of blue shine around the lust-blown pupils. I watch amazed as his eyes somehow grow bigger as I set up a rhythm. His breaths grow shallow and his sweat intermingles with the leftover dampness from the shower.

I forgot how wonderful it feels to have Cas surrounding me in almost every possible way. How tight and _beautiful_ he is. I missed the small pants and very quiet whines that come unbidden with each thrust. Our skin slaps together as I snap my hips.

Quickly, my goal becomes hitting that small bundle of nerves that lies inside. The angle I’m working with isn’t hitting it properly. Without breaking rhythm, I grab a firm pillow to try to slide it beneath Cas’ hips.

“Lift your hips up for me, Cas,” I breathe. He lifts at just the right angle that my next thrust hits his prostate spot on.  


“Oh!” Cas exhales as his face blossoms into utter bliss. Each thrust against it makes his eyes widen and he even has a bit of his bottom lip in-between his teeth. The pillow fits perfectly beneath his hips keeping the perfect angle.

“Faster,” Cas moans. I growl slightly before pistoning my hips to slam against him. He screams as we both quickly get closer and closer to climaxing. A second later, he paints a white stripe against his stomach and my rhythm stutters as I come inside of him. I collapse on his chest and kiss his shoulder tenderly.

“Aw hell.”

I shoot up and look towards the door to see Bobby, Effie, and Cinna staring at us.

Cas and I are dumbstruck as we both look horrified towards the audience standing in the doorway. Effie looks scandalized, Cinna has a small smile with a glimmer in his eyes and Bobby just looks a thousand ways annoyed.

“At least we know the “star-crossed lovers” schtick will come across as true,” Bobby grumbles. He turns his eyes away and looks towards the opposite wall. “Put on some goddamn clothes or have the decency to cover yourselves. I don’t want to picture your naked hairless asses in my nightmares,” Bobby practically growls.

Quickly we disentangle from one another and make a mad dash to the closet to change into some clothes. I realize suddenly we have a problem.

Cas is covered from stomach to groin in cum and I’ve got some of it slathered like jam along my own middle. And, on top of it all, I can see a thin trail of the stuff leaking from Cas’ ass.

“Uh, Bobby?” I poke out from the doorway to see the three still standing there.

“Are you decent?”

“Um, about that, um…” I try to think of a way to put it in the most delicate way possible but Cas decides to cut in.

“Both of our emissions are on our stomachs and trailing down my leg,” Cas calls out bluntly. Bobby makes a pained noise before shooing everyone out and shutting the door, muttering curse words that echo behind him.

Both of us run to the shower to quickly to wash everything off. We manage to keep our hands to ourselves and get dressed. With a snap of my waistband I look up to Cas and simultaneously, we burst in giggles.

“ _Oh my god_! Did that just _happen_?” Cas wheezes, falling to the floor and clutching his ribs.

“B-Bobby’s face. It’s like he walked in on two dogs humping the crap out of each other,” I croak back.

After five minutes of laughing with added tears, we manage to limp downstairs as the pain comes back into our muscles. I hope the scolding is quick since falling asleep in a soft bed sounds really good right now. Just what my aching muscles are ordering.

“Here comes the two love-birds,” Bobby grumbles before sipping from his glass of wine. Cas and I both sit as far away from Bobby as possible. I sit next to Cinna and Cas next to Effie. Portia is absent once again.

“Cas and I are sorry for having such audible sex,” I apologize in what is probably the most insincere way I can imagine. I’m not sorry, not even in the slightest. Even I know the difference between a scream and a _scream_.

“You damn well should be sorry!  You led us all to believe the whole “star-crossed lovers” angle would be an act. If I remember,” Bobby pointedly looks at me, “you were the one to push it down saying it would be ‘too painful’. Now I catch you two bumping uglies and screaming like the goddamn Hunger Games are at your doorstep. We need to set some ground rules, especially since my room is next door to yours,” Bobby complains.

“Robert, you’ve got to imagine it from their point of view. They are young, in love, and only have a handful of days left together. If you shared a room with the love of your life, and knew one of you was going to die, what exactly would you be doing? Hm?” Cinna points out. I give him a smile and his eyes twinkle back at me.

Bobby thrusts his hands up in the air, admitting defeat.

“Whatever, nobody listen to the oldest adult around here. But if I hear one of you screaming in the throes of ‘passion’ or whatever, I won’t hesitate to make one of you permanently sleep on the couch. Got it?” We both nod and run/limp back up the stairs to our room.

* * *

 

The next day is practically the same as the day before. We brush up on our fighting skills, Graysen is wearing a translucent blue, the paunchy man in the balcony watches me wherever I go and the food is just as plentiful.

The only difference is I seem to have a shadow in the name of Rufus Turner. He hides behind weaponry or behind a pillar. At one point, I even see him hanging from the rafters like a squirrel with a Career’s knife in hand watching like he’s got nowhere else to be. I laugh without drawing attention to the young boy and enjoy the upset Career looking for the knife he suddenly ‘needs’.

At one point, the Careers try to size me up and intimidate me. I know I’m not particularly frightening and compared to them, I’m physically weaker in presence. The best thing I can do is make them extremely uncomfortable. I dare not reveal my hidden skills until it’s time in the arena.

I stare the blonde one, Cato, dead in the eyes as I suck my two fingers and get them wet with saliva. I lift the hem of my shirt just an inch or two above my nipple and I rub a slow, aching circle around the areola and the raised nub. I don’t break eye contact and just keep doing it until the disgust wins over his face and his group turns away to go to another booth. Successful in my victory I jump in the air, clicking my heels together, and thus drawing a small bit attention from the other tributes as I walk around to decide which booth to tackle next.

Along the way, I look up to the gamemakers and a few have stopped to watch me with curious expressions. I turn to them, lay my left arm horizontal and bring my right arm in front to punch upwards in a ‘fuck you’ gesture before I settle on a booth and take my turn sparring with one of the trainers.

When we get back to the room my muscles are sufficiently warm and pliant. Dinner is quick as Cas and I shove food into our mouths like wild hogs. We both fall asleep after stripping down to bare skin and before we know it, it’s private training day.

Bobby nor Effie can offer us much advice except to ‘wow’ and ‘dazzle’ them. I take that as meaning that I should demonstrate my greatest skill which is the bow and arrow. I haven’t shot since a few days before the Reaping but my skill doesn’t rust that easily. It’s like moving a limb, easy and thoughtless.

Cas and I shower together but it’s all very clinical with a bit of affection from the sweeping paths of our hands. We even end up putting on each other’s clothes with shy smiles. My hands shake as I slip the soft flowy material over his warm skin. I smooth out the wrinkles and cup the side of his face in my hand. He leans heavily into the touch with closed eyes and a soft sigh.

“You’re going to do great, Cas,” I assure him. His eyes open and turn softly towards me.

“So will you.”

We stand there looking at one another until we both know it’s time to go. We eat barely any breakfast at the dining table. Nervousness is the only thing that roils around in my belly and it definitely won’t agree with much more food.

When it’s time to go, Effie leads us away from where Graysen is strangely absent, to the wooden door on the left. I realize now it’s the holding room that’ll lead us one by one into the training room to be judged by the gamemakers.

Effie more or less drops us off and clicks away on gem-encrusted heels. The room is filled with curious eyes as we are the last to arrive. The Career’s snarl in our general direction and Rufus gives me a hesitant smile as I sit next to him.

“Hey Ru-” I barely get out before the boy is shaking his head wildly. He even takes his forefinger and presses it against his lips in a shushing gesture. I take the hint and zip my mouth closed.

Cas and I sit there in complete silence, except for the rustling and fidgeting noises of the other tributes, until the blonde woman from yesterday clears her throat.

“Today you will be demonstrating your skills to the panel of gamemakers. You will be scored on a scale of one to twelve - twelve being the highest. What you do in this room will never be discussed or heard of beyond the gamemakers. It is your first pre-step into the arena and your scores can affect your chances of survival within the first few minutes.”

“Everything from the booths is at your disposal. That even includes the survival equipment. You will have fifteen minutes to demonstrate your skill, or whenever the gamemakers have deemed they’ve seen enough. Get to the point and don’t dawdle.”

She scans the crowd with her eyes and presents a predatory smile of almost pure evil. “May the odds be _ever_ in your favor,” she trills sweetly before leaving the room.

A moment later, her voice shrieks from the intercom, “Marvel Danvers!” The brown-haired boy from District One rises from his chair and opens the door.

The next five hours go by painfully slowly. No one is allowed to talk to one another so I explore a maze of my memories and allow my mind to flow freely. I end up falling asleep halfway through at around hour three and nod off onto Cas’ shoulder. My dreams are pleasant except I feel a sense of being watched. In my dream, I’m running after Sam and Jo but a sense of _wrong_ follows me from tree to tree and bush to bush. I wake up startled in a pool of my own saliva as Rufus is called away.

It’s only minutes now. Cas will be called first and I’ll be the last.

Beyond shooting a couple of arrows at a few targets, I don’t have much up my sleeve. Nothing creative pops into my mind. I could throw a couple of knives, maybe split an arrow if the material is weak.

The minutes tick by and my legs vibrates with overall nervousness. I look to Cas who’s pale and sweating. I put a reassuring hand on his leg and sweep my thumb back and forth.  He covers it and graces me with a tiny smile.

“Castiel Novak!” He jumps up out of his seat and turns to me.

“Good luck, Dean,” he whispers. “I love you,” he says even lower.

“Love you, too,” I breathe. He schools his face into a mask of indifference and walks to the front doors.

I let out a full exhale and balance my elbows on my knees. I take deep calming breaths but can still feel my heart run wildly out of control coupled with heavily damp palms. I wipe the excess moisture onto my pants and rock myself slightly back and forth.

My whole world is so completely narrowed down to fear that I don’t even hear my name until it’s shouted at me.

“DEAN WINCHESTER, PLEASE ENTER THE TRAINING ROOM _NOW!_ ”

I sit up like a startled rabbit. My heart is the only thing I can hear in my ears as each step takes me closer and closer to the steel doors. My hands slide on the handle until it finally opens. The sounds of loud conversation, drunken laughter and shuffling footsteps echo from the balcony.

A few of the gamemakers are scattered in the chairs staring at their food, others are closed off into tight circles. I can feel the boredom coming off of them like a horrible stink. They’ve gone through six hours of tributes and are probably raring to get home.

Just my luck.

My intent was to impress them, but it’s going to be hard to even get their _attention_. I sigh and walk purposefully to the front so I stand in the middle below the balcony.

“Dean Winchester, District Twelve,” I boom with a slight bow. A few turn and watch me with tired eyes.

At least I have some bit of attention.

I pretend to preen and I notice the beautiful bow that’s been sitting there, mocking me, for the past few days. The only bow I touched was a dark wooden thing that the blonde trainer let me use, the one that could be dry-fired. This one is a gleaming silver thing with a tight string and light as a feather with coiled strength just _waiting_ to be released. I weigh it in my hand and turn it into the proper stance. The poundage is perfect, probably between 40# and 50#.

A quiver sits beneath it with a handful of silver arrows with a special type of fletching I’ve never seen before. I feel it between my fingertips and it’s a cross between a thin plastic and almost liquid. I run my finger across it and realize it’s infinitely small little pieces that interlock into an almost seamless portion of the fletching. By normal eyes it would almost look like a flat plastic piece glued onto the arrow.

The tip is sharp and long with a very tiny barbed point. It’s interesting and I fall in love with it immediately. I look back up into the balcony and see the few who’ve deemed me ‘worthy’ of their attention watching me. I smile hesitantly.

I grab the quiver and strap it over my back as I walk toward the targets. Four stand waiting at about one hundred feet away, spaced roughly four feet apart. They are the size of small dinner plates with different colored rings in red and white. Without much preamble, I retrieve an arrow, nock it and pull it taut to the anchor point right at the corner of my mouth with the bowstring gently touching my nose. I breathe a solid breath and will my heart to freeze. I focus and let the projectile go.

I miss.

I nock another arrow and adjust before releasing the bowstring once again.

Bull’s-eye.

I turn around and realize what little attention I had garnered has disappeared like wisps of smoke. No one even saw my perfect shot. Red hot anger boils in my belly as I grind my teeth and draw my brows together.

How _dare_ they ignore me? I’m here to play in their stupid little game and they can’t even give me the _time_ to watch me demonstrate my skill? My vision goes hazy as adrenaline rushes through me like a deadly poison.

Everything happens so quickly.  I spot the throwing knives hung up like tools on a nearby cart. I grab them, stick them in my pocket, and stomp over to an acceptable distance away from the second story balcony. I can see many are carrying a champagne glass and the paunchy one in the dark suit, the one who’s been watching me, holds a large apple that he’s about to take a large bite of.

My brain goes into overdrive as I nock an arrow and shoot the apple straight from the paunchy man’s hand into the wall. The arrow hit it dead center right before it reached the man’s mouth. The group stands stock still as they stare at the apple that leaks clear juice along the silver wall.

I use the opportunity to take the three knives I’ve collected out of my pocket and throw them one after the other into the delicate champagne glasses that the rest of the group is carrying. Each one tinkles as it shatters and each knife hits the wall under the apple perfectly.

Everyone in the room turns their attention to me. Their expressions range from amazed to utterly horrified. I grin slyly before throwing the bow away from me and chucking the quiver with it.

I bow deep and low. “Thank you for your consideration,” I almost yell with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

Dismissing myself, I turn around and walk out the double steel doors.

I’ve never in my life felt like such a complete, and _total_ , badass.


End file.
